


Purple Hair

by National_quinnspiration



Category: Wander Over Yonder
Genre: Dehumanization, Disassociation, Emotional Abuse, Gen, Intrusive Thoughts, Medical Abuse, Misgendering, Nightmares, Objectification, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Worth Issues, kind of, pyshical abuse, use of it pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 02:03:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5649682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/National_quinnspiration/pseuds/National_quinnspiration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Hater has a history that he doesn't want anyone to know about. A past he's not proud of. He's done his best to move on and build the life he has now.</p><p>That all changes when he sees a certain woman again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Esw

**Author's Note:**

> So this is kind of my take on Lord Hater's backstory and his thing about girls with purple hair. this happened when i had to change all my biological head cannons when i found out hater used to be organic. inspired by that one post that i cant find right now but will link to it when i do. also i watched 'back to the barn' around the same time so that had some influence as well.
> 
> un beta'd so tell me if you see any mistakes.

They’re right in the middle of a top secret operation when Hater sees her.

Lord Hater, Peepers and around fifty hand-picked Watchdog soldiers are together, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They're hiding in plain sight, dressed in civilian clothes.

They’re on the planet Esw, during their annual five day Eswn festival. It was the third day of the festival. The day when the entire Eswn royal family parade down the main street of the capital city. The perfect opportunity to say, force the king to turn over rule of the planet to Lord Hater under the threat of the death of his entire family.

It was a pretty simple plan but it did have the need for camouflage, so they weren't captured or stopped. Hater’s dressed in an awful oversized hoodie that’s big even on him. It was the only thing that covered his horns and back spines. Peepers is wearing a suit, dark blue and pin stripe. Hater had made him take his tie off because no one wears ties anymore. Peepers looked different out of his uniform, without his helmet to make him look taller.  Hater figures Peepers knew how short he was, because he had to stand in his chair to be at the right height for the table. He’d been scowling all morning. It was almost cute.

_Peepers actually had clothes that were ‘suitable’. Unlike Hater who Peepers had to find a disguise for. Peepers brought about twenty options and they were all terrible._

" _Why can’t I just wear something I don’t normally, like you!” Hater had whined. He pulled off the unacceptable blazer. He threw it over the changing screen in Peepers direction. He hears an ‘ufh” and grumbling and figured it landed right on him._

_"Because, sir.” Peepers said patiently. “All your clothes sort of scream ‘evil overlord.’”_

_“You don’t like my clothes?” Hater questioned, incredulous._

_“I think your clothes are lovely, sir. But we are going for_ **_normal civilians_ ** _here. Anything from your wardrobe would give us away with its, uh, awesomeness.”_  

Peepers had been planning this invasion for months. He was super dedicated after their last two failed attempts to take this planet. Which also meant he was obsessive and annoying to everyone involved.

Hater rolled his eyes as Peepers checked his watch for like the hundredth time in a minute.

“Peepers you’re like the glorping picture of suspicion here, like, checking your watch, acting all shifty, not eating your food. We’re supposed to be doing like, the opposite of that.” Hater said with a mouth full of Eswn scrambled eggs.

The two were sitting at the outside tables at one of the cafes, eating an early lunch. Hater can see about ten Watchdogs in various positions about the street. They are all are doing a better job of looking conspicuous than Peepers.

“Sorry, sir.” Peepers reply’s, reaching out to take a sip of his espresso. Hater doesn't know how he can drink that muck.

“I'm just nervous, conquering of this planet is important. It’ll be our foot hole in this quadrant and after the last two times I just want everything to go to plan.” Peepers is fiddling with his sleeves again, using the edge of the table to pull one back over his wrist. He’s wearing cuff links, Hater notices, and rolls his eyes.

“Pffftt. It'll be fine, you got everything planned down to the second. But like seriously, chill out. We still got like fifteen minutes anyways”. Hater says.

He leans back to grin at the grimacing waitress who’s brought them another pitcher of water.

“Thirteen minutes fifty seconds.” Peepers corrects and Hater glares at him.

“Okay, now you're not allowed telling me how much time we've got left till the five minute mark. It’s annoying.”

The corners of peeper’s eyelids scrunch with irritation. He looks like he wants to say something but wisely holds his tongue.

They sit in silence for a while, Hater poking at the overdone bacon on his plate with disgust. Peepers listens to reports from the lookouts through his earpiece.

“Everything's looking good, sir. We will proceed as planned.” Peepers says, hesitant but hopeful. He’s feeling good about this plan. Hyper vigilant but good. He has backup plans for his backup plans. It’ll be okay.

“Cool, cool.” Hater replies absently. He just wants to get to the part with him yelling and looking cool and zapping people with lightning.

He scans the crowds and storefronts, looking at all the people he's about to be ruler off. There’s hundreds, maybe thousands of people out to try and get a glimpse of their beloved leaders. Some of them with cheap spy glasses, children pushing to the front of the crowd. There's a camera crews ready to broadcast the event across the globe.

Good, Hater thinks. He wants them all to see what a true evil ruler looks like.

He turns his attention to one of the few cool things on this planet. Across the street and a bit to the left of them is ‘dark hearts, clothing and accessories’. It's an actually cool looking store with a bunch rad looking people wearing a lot of eye makeup inside. The shop had a lot of skulls and blood imagery. Totally his style.

There was also a video game store advertising the new terror gladiator’s game. He’d have to stop there once he conquered the planet.

Hater’s eyes glance over a boring, expensive looking, and upper class clothing store. He catches a glimpse of long purple hair through the window. His heart kicks into overdrive.

It can’t be. It can't be her. Hater sits straight up, straining his eyes to get a better look. Lots of people have purple hair.

Peepers watches this sudden movement, shooting a questioning look at his boss. Hater doesn’t notice him.

“Sir?” Peepers asked after a few moments but Hater just ignores him.

Hater’s breath becomes shallow, he shivers from a cold that isn't there. A sense of terror is welling up inside him. There’s a sudden pain in his chest, and he almost doubles over before forcing himself to stay upright. It's not her. It can’t be. There’s no way.

“Sir?”

The woman in the store turns toward him, eyeing a charcoal cashmere turtleneck. Her wavy purple hair swishes past her shoulders. Her four dark eyes narrow as she surveys the sweater. Those ‘oh so familiar’ lips purse with indecision. And there, a long since healed burn scar streaming down her long graceful neck.

It’s her.

Oh god.

“Sir!?” Peepers raises his voice with concern as he watches Lord Hater gasp for breath, eyes wide. “Sir, what is it?”

He can't do this. He can't let her see him. Hater scrunches himself up smaller. His head leaning down to just a few inches off the table and pulling his arms and legs close to his body. His limbs put more pressure on his chest and the pain increases. Haters breathing falters. He wants to be sick.

Peeper’s brow furrows as Hater looks him in the eye. He looks scared and small and completely un-Hater like.

Something twangs in peeper’s chest at Hater’s expression. Something is wrong, he just knows it.

“I need to leave, Peepers” Hater says in a small voice. His hood has slipped down, falling just above his eyes.

Peepers blinks. “What?”

“I need to get out of here, _right now_.” Hater repeats, firmer this time, in a strained voice. He’s shaking.

Peeper’s eye widens. Something is defiantly wrong. “What?! Why!?”

Hater shakes his head and makes a negative whining sound, indicating that he didn’t want to say. His throat is tight, and for a moment he can't even form words.

“No, sir if something's wrong, you have to tell me.” Peepers says, trying to get it together. Whatever's going on, he needs to stay calm.

“No. I c-can't tell you. I just need to leave.” Hater forces out, trying not to gag.

“What!?” Peepers stood tall in his chair, waving his arms around in a dismayed manner.

Haters eye widen at Peepers outburst. He shushes Peepers, motioning for him to sit down. They can’t make noise, can’t attract attention. He cannot get caught. Hater can’t even let her see him.

“NO, sir. We can't! The plan! There's only seven minutes left, sir! We can't just abandon it. So much planning, time and eff-” Peepers rants, he isn’t panicking. Not at all. He’s just remembering the aftermaths of the last two attempts. He’s worked so hard on this, it’s been more than a week since he last got a good night’s sleep.

“Iknowiknowiknowiknowiknowiknowiknow. I know.” Hater interrupts him, his voice shaking and raspy.

“And I’m sorry. I know you worked hard but. I just. I can't. I mean. I need to go. Now.” Hater begs, pulling the strings of his hoodie so it covered even more of his face. His hands are tingling, so he keeps them clenched around the strings.

Peepers stares up at him in shock. He’s never seen Lord Hater act like this. Ever. Something is wrong (Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!) But Lord Hater doesn't seem like he's about to tell him.

“Sir, I-”

“Please, Peepers?” Lord Hater asks.

Peepers sighs.

“Attention all parties abort, mission compromised, repeat, mission compromised. Initiate evacuation procedure 8.4. Immediately.” Peepers says into his telecom device. Hater sees several Watchdogs freeze in place, listening to their Commander.

“Roger, Commander. Please confirm?” The reply comes. The voice on the other end sound uncertain. This attack is all that’s been on Peepers mind. He threatened to court martial someone yesterday when they had interrupted him while he was talking about it.

“Confirm code 873.” Peepers says before calling for the check, so as not to cause a scene with a ‘dine and dash’. He pays in cash. Lord Hater slips further down into his chair. Hater looks frantic, his eyes glancing everywhere.

It's disconcerting, watching his boss act like that. Lord Hater's freaking out and it doesn't sit at all well with Peepers. Lord Hater is one of the most physically strong people he knows. Peepers has seen him lift cars and kill people in under a second with his lightning. It takes a galactic armada to threaten his boss! And yet here Hater is, hyperventilating on the street of a planet in neutral space! Peepers decides to get Hater away from there as soon as possible.

Peepers gets up and walks down the street. Hater lets him lead the way. He most likely didn't read the escape route plan. Lord Hater’s walking so fast that Peepers has to run to avoid Hater stepping on him.

Lord Hater has one hand gripped to his stomach. The other at a ninety degree angle with his forearm out in front of him like a barrier. It hovers a way above Peepers head as they move through the streets. Peepers can't help but wonder if it's meant to be protecting him.

He can hear Hater breathing, loud and fast, catching in his throat. Hater keeps looking over his shoulder, searching for some unknown danger. Is something following them? Who narbling knows because Peepers asked. Hater just looked at him unfocused and mumbles different variants of ‘no’.

At any rate, the turning around isn't the best method. Hater keeps bumping into people. Then he has to start back, realize is just a random pedestrian and glare at them. Even though he's the one who wasn't looking where he was going. All this had a significant effect on their speed.

Hater can’t think. He feels lightheaded and everything hurts. He’s 100% sure she's actually seen him, that she’s following right behind him. That she’s going to get him.

He doesn’t even feel like he is here, on the streets of Esw. He feels young and terrified again, running from her in another life. Everything is distant. Except the fear, that's close. Nothing feels real, and Hater has to keep forcing himself to concentrate. He needs to make sure that she’s not coming for him and that he doesn’t leave Peepers behind.

Peepers keeps asking him concerned questions. Hater can't parse half of the words, so he answers the negative. Peepers just looks even more worried. Hater has to look behind him again.

They cut down a side street and go down two more blocks. They get to an alleyway where a Lord Hater, plus one Watchdog, sized shuttle that's hidden under a tarp.

Hater climbs in the shuttle and pulls Peepers in after him because ‘he’s not moving fast enough’.

The shuttle is locked on to Hater's ship, so all they have to do is activate it and it will cloak and fly them home.

Hater had his face pressed to the window, straining his eyes. His unsteady breathing fogged up the glass. Peepers had hoped that once they were in the shuttle Lord Hater would calm down enough to tell him what was going on. It doesn't seem like it was going to happen.

Peepers decides to try anyway. Gently.

“Uh, sir?”

“Mm?” Hater responds distracted, through clenched jaws, his brow furrowed.

“Are we safe now?”

Hater’s eyes widen at this and he whips around to look at Peepers.

“Yeah, yeah, no it's fine Peepers.” Hater struggles out. It's clear to Peepers that Hater doesn't believe a word he's saying. Peepers wonders why Lord Hater feels the need to lie to him, his most trusted adviser. Peepers face scrunches as he tries to figure out why Lord Hater thinks he can't tell him something.

Hater watches Peepers become more distressed, the opposite of what he wanted. He doesn't want Peepers to worry. He doesn't want Peepers to feel what he’s feeling right now.

Hater reaches out and takes Peepers hand. Well, more like holds it between his thumb and index finger. Hater’s hand is bigger than peeper’s entire head.

Peepers stares up at him in awe. This was the first time Hater had ever initiated positive physical contact.

Peepers watches his boss glance at him and then look away again. A poor attempt at subtle eye contact avoidance. If Hater had had skin, he would have been blushing. As it was Peepers eyelid was turning a undeniable shade of pink.

It was a strange action, something almost consoling in the way Hater’s thumb stroked the back of his hand. It's completely out of character but far more pleasant that freaked out, hyperventilating Hater.

The two stay like that for most of the rest trip back. There's a silence but it's not awkward or tense. Hater takes his hand away shortly before they dock. Peepers tries not to think about how that means Lord Hater's embarrassed about this. About him.

He doesn’t succeed. The hurt cuts through him, sharp and shift, and he covers the wound with anger.

Theirs’ the last shuttles to arrive. The skull ship is hidden behind one of Esw’s many moons.

The Watchdog agents crowd around. They have questions. As do as the air traffic controllers, and several shuttle maintenance crews.

“What happened?”

“Are we in danger?!”

“Why did we evacuate?”

“Is it Wander? 

“Are we abandoning the mission?”

“Lord Hater?” “Lord-” “Lord Hater!”

Lord Hater has no idea what to say. Well, he does but he can't say that. They keep asking and yelling and Hater doesn't have the answers. He doesn't have anything.

It’s too much.

Luckily, Peepers does his job. It feels like rescue.

“HEY! YOU ARE HIGHLY TRAINED WATCHDOG AGENTS! NOT SQUEALING CHILDREN! ACT LIKE IT!” Peepers’ voice screams out, leaving dead silence in its wake. Peepers is seething. He does not need this from his subordinates as well.

Once he's satisfied with their response he clears his throat and continues at a lower volume.

“Approximately seven minutes before mission commencement, a threat was discovered by own Lord Hater. The threat was analysed and was determined to be too great a risk to the mission. So, evacuation protocols were activated. That is what happened.” Peepers ends, in a curt, professional manner.

It's a lie, and Hater’s pretty sure Peepers know it too. The threat had nothing to do with the mission. It was all to do with him. He did this. This was all his fault.

Several Watchdogs raise their hands, no doubt about the obvious gaps in Peepers’ story. He isn't fazed.

“I will not be taking questions at this time.” Peepers voice is stern and all the hands slip back down. “Please report to meeting hall C8 for debriefing at 1300 hours. Dismissed.”

The Watchdogs file out. You can taste Commander Peepers bad mood and none of them want to stick around and have it taken out on them.

Once they’re gone Peepers turns to Lord Hater. Who isn't there?

Peepers whips around, to see if Hater was standing in a different position behind him. But no, not a skeleton man around.

Peepers isn’t even sure when Hater left. Which is strange because Lord Hater is eight feet tall, and rattles sometimes when he walks. It means Hater most likely snuck away with the intention of no one noticing. Peepers hopes it was just the crowds of annoying Watchdogs Lord Hater was avoiding.

He hopes Lord Hater isn't hiding from him.

Because it’s not like Lord Hater had done anything this Peepers would be angry enough to yell at him about. Those things involved Wander. Or mass casualties. Or both

All Lord Hater had done was be scared and irrational. And that's okay, Peepers reasoned. Lord Hater had seen a threat that had made him more afraid than Peepers had ever seen him. He’d still managed to abort the mission without incident.

It was in the heat of the moment. It’s understandable that Lord Hater that couldn’t tell Peepers what was happening (Just because Peepers didn’t understand it didn’t mean it wasn’t understandable).

But now that everything was back under control, Peepers needed to know what was going on. He need to be peaceful and diplomatic about it too. It was his job to get everything back to normal. He needed to fix everything. It was his job.

Peepers need to be flexible negotiator. He needed to stop thinking about himself for once. The priorities were Lord Hater and the empire, and doing whatever it takes to protect them.

This isn't about him. Peepers feelings do not factor into this. They need to be left out of the equation.

With a heavy heart and a goal in mind Peepers sets of to find his Lord. He starts with Hater’s personal level.

Lord Hater hopes that Peepers doesn't realise he's hiding from him. Because it's not like any of this is his fault. But he knows Peepers is gonna to want a better explanation and he doesn’t wanna give one.

With luck, Peepers would go and give the debriefing and forget to ask horrible questions. Maybe even forget about today completely, and everything would be fine.

As usual, Hater’s not that lucky.

He had retreated to his room the minute Peepers turned his back, gaining strange looks from the other Watchdogs as he sprinted through the darkened corridors. He doesn't care.

They know to keep out of his way after the many accidental eyeball steppings he’d committed.

He feels about 100 times better when he gets to his room. Not safe exactly, how could he after learning she was still alive? (He hadn't known, there hadn't been any sign up till now! He had hoped and felt terrible about hoping- Oh god, what if she knew?!).

But he felt more like himself again. More in control. All the adrenaline drains out of his body and it's such a relief, just to be calm again.

Hater takes a deep breath of temperature controlled air. His mind empties.

And then the exhaustion sets in. His bones ache and His stomach rumbles (and like hell is he gonna go out for food now. Everyone else will just have to deal with it.). Being tired wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. If he goes to sleep now, he might be able to avoid all his responsibilities.

But first he's getting out of these dumb clothes. He hates wearing pants. The fabric catches in his joints and everything rides up or slips down and they’re just so annoying. He changes into one of his old tunics. Its worn and faded and he’d never wear it outside his room but it's soft and it smells nice and he needs that right now.

Hater just happens to be half way through changing when Peepers barges into his room. He doesn't knock but the door makes a loud swishing noise when it opens. Which is how Hater knows its Peepers because no one else has the gall to enter his room without permission.

Hater yanks the tunic down to his ankles and pulls the hood down over his forehead, not wanting Peepers to see him.

Hater’s in his walk in closet, so he isn't in Peepers immediate view.

“Lord Hater, are you in here, sir?” Peepers’ voice is wrong. He sounds like he does when something big happens and he’s trying to hide how nervous he is about it. Like a big upcoming invasion or whether he forgot to fill out some forms in triplicate. It’s like it was back on Esw but ten times wronger.

Great, a nervous _and_ confrontational Peepers. Even better.

“Yeah.” Hater replies, just loud enough for Peepers to hear him. He doesn't wanna do this.

He hears Peepers little footsteps coming closer. Hater stands up tall and decides to leave the closet.

Peepers takes a few steps back as Hater comes out, just to put some space between them. Peepers looks calm but Hater knows there's tension bubbling under the surface.

But Hater has tension too. Peepers doesn't get to be in charge of this situation.

“You left before I could tell you about the debriefing.” Peepers starts off, treading carefully.

“Eh, I was there, I know what happened.” Haters says the first thing he thinks of, which as always, is a bad idea.

_Stupid. Stupid._

“Well, that's just the thing, sir.” Peepers tries to explain, taking a few friendly steps forward. “You know what happened but the Watchdogs don't know the full story. Even I don't.”

Peepers is still concerned about it, anxious even. He does not like not knowing things. Especially about the wellbeing and success of the Hater empire. And the safety of Lord Hater.

“What are you even talking about?” Hater attempts to scoff, attempts to be casual. He tries to pretend like every second of her isn’t replaying over and over in his brain. Tries to pretend like he’s not terrified she’ll come bursting in any second.

Peepers inhales sharply at this, his gaze becoming stern. Was Hater really doing this? Of course he was! What is he even trying to achieve by avoiding the subject?

Peepers’ shoulders tense up, brushing against his lower eyelid.

“You aborted a planetary conquest mission.” Peepers says slowly. He has to stay calm. He has to be the voice of reason. Peepers curls his hands into fists. He can feel his nails pressing into his palm through two layers of fabric. A part of him wants to stop this but he can't. He needs the information.

“Yeah!? I can do that, can’t I!?” Is Haters loud retort. He sticks his chest out. “I'm the evil overlord!”

He's the ruler. Not her. She isn't here. She is not here.

“Yes! But you can't do it like this. Without telling anyone what's going on. Without telling me!” Peepers tries (and fails) to keep the hurt out of his voice. He can’t make this personal. This is about Lord Hater, not him.

“Why not?!” Hater says, his voice too loud.

Hater’s heart races. His head slumps down into the bones of his neck. His eyes scrunch with regret. He's upset Peepers. Of course he has, he can't do anything right. He's useless. He’s so-

No! No he isn't! He's Lord Hater! Greatest in the galaxy.

“Because! I need to know about all threats to you and the empire. I need to keep everything safe and operational!” Peepers yells at him. Hater flinches at his voice.

Peepers needs to calm down and he knows it. This is unprofessional. He just needs answers. He’s got the ship on lock down, ready to escape at a moment's notice.

“You think I can't do that!” Hater yells. He’s not dumb. He's not weak. He could protect himself from anything. Almost. The glow of her cigars dances in his mind. He feels sick and clamps his throat to force back his retches.

“I never said that.” Peepers defends, trying to calm himself and hater, taking steady breaths. (THIS ISN’T WORKING. THIS ISN'T WORKING) Steady. Breaths.

“That’s exactly what you said!” Lord Hater yells, certain Peepers can see the fear inside him through his eyes. Peepers is gonna know! He’s gonna know exactly what Hater is. (Was. some part of his mind is desperate to correct.) And Peepers gonna think of Hater exactly like she does (did). He can’t deal with that, not from Peepers!

No, wait! Peepers doesn't know anything! He can’t!

“No, sir, listen. If you just tell me-” Peepers needs to know. There's that sick, desperate feeling rising up inside peepers again and he struggles to push it back down.

“No you listen! You don't need to know anything!” Hater screams at him. He's not doing this. He can't. Peepers cannot know.

“THEN HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO?!” Peepers finally loses his cool, voice raising to a shout. He feels helpless. He can’t do anything. He’s supposed to be doing something. It’s his job.

“I’LL TELL YOU!” Hater is pretty much screeching at this point. “YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE! YOU'RE GONNA GET US OUT OF THIS QUADRANT AND YOU’RE GONNA STOP ASKING ME QUESTIONS! NOW!” Hater can't breathe. He’s just yelling. He can almost see her, hear her, can almost feel her touch on his skin. He’s not there, Hater struggles to reason with himself. It’s not working. He’s about to break down and have the worst episode. He can't let Peepers see him like that.

“SIR-”

“That’s an order.” Hater snaps.

Peepers everything freezes at the word ‘order’. Lord Hater knows he won't disobey, probably knows he can’t. Peepers just glares at him for a solid minute, before storming out of the room.

The second the door closes, Hater sky rockets around the room. He tears the four security cameras out of the wall before collapsing in a sobbing, heaving mess on his bed. He doesn’t move for a long time.


	2. Lonom 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything’s been not great all round since Esw.

“You!” Peepers yells, grabbing some Watchdog by the collar of his uniform. “Have you seen Lord Hater?!”

“No, c-Commander, ss-sir.” the soldier stammered.

Peepers scowls. This is the last entrance to the skull ship. All entrances have guards posted any time the skull ship is docked on a planet. Like now. None of the guards had seen Lord Hater. Which meant he hadn’t boarded the ship again since he left. Which meant Peepers would have to go find him and bring him back. Lord Hater had only talked to him once in the four days since he aborted the Esw mission. And that had been less talking and more screaming. So this wasn’t going to be fun.

Lord Hater had confined himself to his room. Which had been fine. For the first day when Peepers hadn’t wanted to see him either. But then two days went by, and them three. Peepers had started to wonder if Lord Hater was just figuring out how to fire him. It’s a daunting, entirely plausible option. Maybe the only reason Hater was waiting this time was so he could find a replacement for him.

Peepers waits for Hater to show up and tell him the bad news, or worse have a representative relieve him of duty. It doesn’t happen though. And Peepers figures, as long as he had his job he was going to keep doing it. 

Lord Hater had said to get them out of the quadrant. Peepers can do better than that. And yes, Peepers has thought of the possibility that Lord Hater might not want them more than a quadrant away. Peepers thinks of every possibility. If that one is the case he will deal with it. Space ships can fly back again and he can take being yelled at.

On top of worrying about his job and quadrants, Peepers also worries about Lord Hater himself. He broke every security camera in his room. All four, hard won, security cameras in Hater personal chambers that had taken weeks of convincing before Lord Hater allowed peepers to have them installed.

Peepers had only realized  **four hours** after he’d stormed off. Though, to be fair he had been distracted with the whole ‘debriefing about the cancelled mission’ thing. Which he was late to. He nothing to tell them because his talk with Lord Hater was a complete failure. He was vague and intimidating as could be, giving no explanations and glaring at everyone. He didn’t need to put it on. He feels vague and intimidating.

He scolded himself for not noticing the cameras sooner. Then scolds the Watchdogs assigned to Haters video feeds for not telling him sooner. In their defence, they claimed that they thought it had been fine as Lord Hater himself had removed them. Peepers yelled at them, and then watched the tape of a frantic Lord Hater ripping the cameras from the walls. Then he yelled at them some more. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you go check if he was okay?”

Peepers knows why. He know these security officers had also seen their argument before the camera breaking. Both he and Hater had been furious. Mark and Kim here hadn’t wanted that fury brought down on them.

Peepers had sent Mark to go check on Lord Hater. He’d come back with one of the mangled cameras, which had been hurled at him when walked in the room.

Lord Hater hadn’t exactly done a good job of taking care of himself while he was holed up in his room. He hadn’t been going around peepers in the chain of command, to the other Watchdogs for food or anything else he might need like peepers had expected him to. Peepers had checked (with force).

He’d worried about it and was all set to have breakfast sent to Hater's room. Then he’s told large amounts of food had gone missing during his sleep shift.

Peepers sends food anyway. It goes untouched. Peepers worries more.

So Peepers does what he always does when he worries too much, he works. He spends half of his time on the bridge making sure they were moving as efficiently as possible. He does maintenance checks on everything. He fills out reports. He puts all his vague, intimidating-ness to work. He does his job and hopes that he’ll get to keep it.

Lord Hater had finally come out of his room seven hours ago, to yell at Peepers for stopping the ship. Peepers had yelled back, not impressed. They needed supplies and fuel, not to mention the crew were exhausted. Then Lord Hater had stormed off the ship muttering and that's the last time anyone had seen him.

“Uh, excuse me, sir?” The door guard interjects peeper’s thoughts.

“What!?” Peepers snaps, glaring at him.

“Could you p-possibly let me go?” He asks. Peepers scoffs and realises the guard, who falls backward onto the floor.

“Get back to work.” Peepers says. The Watchdog scampers back to his post. “And call me the second you see him!”

“Yes, sir!” the Watchdog guard calls after him, not wanting to get on the Commander's bad side. There was a swarm of rumours about what had happened during the failed invasion. All he knew for sure is that Commander Peepers was not happy with Lord Hater, who hadn’t no one had seen since. The two were a solid unit. Whether celebrating or arguing, they were always together. No one had seen the two in the same room for four days, which did not bode well for any of them.

Peepers makes his way back onto the docks. Other Watchdogs are finishing loading supplies or fuel into the skull ship. There had also been maintenance on one of the thrusters but it had been completed hours ago. In less than half an hour everything would be ready to leave. Except Lord Hater.

The planet they were on, Lonom 9 was not a great place for watchdogs. It was too close to its sun. The whole planet was a vast desert, with the only water deep underground. The only reason anyone stops here is because it's the only fuel for a hundred and thirty light years.

The skull ship had arrived here in the middle of this planet's night. Now it was just after noon and the sun was at its highest, perfect for blinding creatures with sensitive eyes. Peepers pulls back on the sunglass he’d been wearing since sunrise.

The space docks surrounding Peepers are thriving. There are around a hundred ships docked today. Confused tourists hold maps upside down. Seasoned space sailors pay them no heed, most of them off to enjoy shore leave. The locals collect cargo and overcharge every chance they get. They wear thin sturdy, flowing garments that cover most of their body. Proper desert wear that makes them more comfortable than everyone else under the scorching sun.

Peepers assembles a team of thirty or so soldiers to help him search for lord hater. Any more might be taken as a sign of invasion and meet unnecessary resistance. Peepers is only prepared to take that action if this wave of searching turns up nothing.

At least Peepers could narrow down where Hater might be. He’s almost certain Lord Hater didn't have any money on him when he left. Not that Hater didn’t have money, he had a lot. But Hater never carried cash. Only money transfer devices when he was going out with the intention of buying something. Usually Lord Hater would just get Peepers to pay for his impulse purchases.

Lonom 9 was pretty consumerist, so it stood that Hater wouldn't be able to loiter in most places. That left public spaces like main streets, parks and open historic sites. The Lonom 9 government were using them to try and boost tourism. Peepers divides the areas between the assembled Watchdogs.

He has a few search the docks themselves. Peepers is sure Lord Hater wouldn’t be there, just on principle. Lord Hater had expressed dislike for the crowded work environment many times but He might be on his way back to the ship, though. Or have gotten lost.

He had Some Watchdogs search through the main streets and squares. Another group of soldiers does public parks (Three parks, four playgrounds, two pet parks, and a botanical garden, to be precise).

Peepers pulls up a list of government sites on his information device. One in particular catches his eye. To the east of the city lays an ancient battle field, that’s open to the public. It's famous, according to the website. This battle field has the densest amount of remains for one area in the known galaxy. It's literally a field of skeletons.

It's one of those things that Lord Hater would have strong feelings about. He’d either think it was great or despise it. Either way, Peepers has a feeling he’d find Hater there. He assigns himself to that area.

He finishes assigning the rest of the government sites to his chosen Watchdogs and they disperse.

The sun catches Peepers’ eye through the side of his sunglass. While he’s still near the ship, Peepers considers changing into more heat suited clothes.

He decides against it. Only his civilian clothes would make a difference in this heat. The trouble with having such a light absorbing coloured uniform. The uniform was important because he was a representative of the empire. Also people were less likely to mess with him if they knew who he was.

He settles for loosening his collar and buying a cheap parasol for himself at a stall on the boulevard. Beyond the boulevard is the only city in this hemisphere. Beyond that, several tourist traps each offering a unique view of the desert. Beyond that, the desert stretches thousands of miles until the sand becomes snow. Lord Hater had to be here. Somewhere.

Peepers wishes he had chased Lord Hater when he left, no matter how awkward it may have been. Instead he had stayed to supervise the docking.

Peepers starts hearing back from the Watchdogs that he had gotten to search the streets. They'd been asking law enforcement officers about ‘a large angry skeleton roaming about’. All Peepers gets are reports of strange looks and negative answers.

Those reaction were what Peepers got when someone had never meet Lord Hater. Which mean that Lord Hater had not been in any of these places long enough to cause a scene and get remembered.

It took approximately 3 minutes for Hater cause a scene.

The kind of reaction when someone had meet Lord Hater was subtly different. Usually a different variety of strange stare and ‘he’s not coming back is he?’ No one knows what to make of Lord Hater, only that they should probably be afraid. Peepers appreciates the sentiment but he thinks they could be more reverent about it.

In a galaxy with this much biodiversity, living skeletons are rare. So rare, in fact that Lord Hater was the only legitimate one Peepers had ever seen or even heard about. And he’s looked. He cannot find another single person of Lord Hater's species.

It’s disconcerting because they have no average to base Lord Hater's medical care off. They don't know what's normal and what’s cause for concern. It’s made even worse by the fact that Lord Hater wouldn’t have a proper medical examination.

He’ll let a medic patch him up after a particularly bad fight. Once he’d even allowed his shattered tibia to be put in a plaster cast. But anything unnecessary, Lord Hater flat out refused (he bit a nurse once when they tried to hold him down).

Lord Hater had advanced healing compared to most species, in his bones at least. Lord Hater's bones did break but if you put the pieces back next to each other they would heal in a matter of days. Peepers thinks it's some kind of magic but he doesn’t know which kind.

Peepers never seen Haters living parts get injured. Peepers worries that that may be his weakness. Peepers does his best to insure Lord Hater’s safety.  He has Haters battle cloaks made with fire and projectile resistant material. Peepers has replaced all his sneakers with steel tipped ones. Frustratingly, Lord Hater refused to wear protective eye goggles. Even after Peepers put lightning bolt stickers on them.

He has files full of scraps of evidence and theories. (Does Hater have more organic parts than his eyes and tongue? are his organic parts keep alive by blood or magic? how does he reproduce? were there others of his kind? if so what happened to them?) But is all just conjecture at this stage.

There so little he knows about Lord Hater, especially of the thing that are important. Like his weakness, so Peepers can build a better defence for him. Or how his body works or like why he would abort a planetary conquest mission!

Why won't he let me help him?!

Peepers forcefully contracts his pupil, halting that train of thought. He needs to focus on finding Lord Hater, not Peepers’ feelings about him. Still the sickening mix of worry and anger only strengthens its grip on him.

 

* * *

 

 

The field of skeletons was vast, and sweltering in the afternoon sun. When Peepers arrives, there are groups of tourist walking about, in what Peepers assumes is an attempt at skin cancer.

There's a small information building with very prominently displayed etiquette signs. (Do not break the bones! do not remove the bones without permission! do not build sculptures out of the bones!)

Peepers asks an employee about Lord Hater and finally gets an answer he wants to hear.

“Mmm, yeah, I know who you're talking about, he came through this morning.” the Ranger told him, in far too perky a manner for this heat. “I haven’t seen him since, so he can’t have left.”

“Do people usually spend that long here?” Peepers asks wryly. It’s not exactly a holiday destination.

“Oh yes!” She says enthusiastically, not noticing his tone. “We’re a popular day trip destination. Though not with your friend.”

“Huh?”

“He seemed quite upset. I thought perhaps about the, um, presence of other like him, in this way? I assured him our treatment of all remains is respectful and any damage is prosecuted. He didn't seem relieved, though.”

“Oh no, that's not it. He's just having an uh, bad, uh, week” Peepers says, uncomfortable.

“Ah. Well, tell him I hope he feels better.”

“Will do.”

It takes him almost an hour to find Lord Hater, and it's quite a sight when he does.

Lord Hater has fallen asleep, slumped over some other skeletons.

A scrawny, old, science looking guy is bent over him, brushing dust of his skull with a tiny brush. Everything he’s wearing is looks at least four sizes too big, hanging off his body like loose sails. Including his hair.

“Uh, who are you?” Peepers asks. He’s both amused and astonished at the situation Lord Hater had gotten himself into. This was not the first time Lord Hater has been mistaken for an exhibit.

The man starts up and flips around to face Peepers. His eye light up and he speaks cheerfully. “I’m doctor Rashabust Cromusle, I’m an archaeologist visiting the skeleton fields.”

The doctor holds his hand out for Peepers to shake. Peepers stares it down until he pulls it back awkwardly.

The man is looking at him, excited. Peepers get the feeling he's about to be talked at. A lot. But, he has to ask. “And what is it you think you're doing?”

“Ah, Well!”

Here we go.

“I came to this planet because of the anthropological value of this site. It's quite unique, you know.”

“I've heard.” Peepers interjects. Before the guy can start explaining why the field of skeletons is so interesting.

“Yes, well.” The doctor continues. “I just stumbled upon this incredible set of remains. At first because someone was disrespectful enough to dress it in this garbage.” he said, spitting out the last few syllables with disgust while tugging at Lord Hater cloak.

Peepers has to stop himself from laughing.

”But i stayed because of how rare it was. Why, I’ve only ever seen two others like this before in person.” the doctor continues excitedly.

“Wait, what?” Peepers squeaks. That had caught his attention.

“The ‘Artifex lignarius vasum’, fascinating creature. There used to be millions of them but they practically disappeared overnight.” the doctor tells him. He’s surprised but grateful for this little man interest in his work.

“Disappeared?” Peepers echoes, His stomach dropping. He had asked about Lord Hater about his species before. Hater had changed the subject.

Peepers may not be close with most of the Watchdogs, but they were like his family. His weird, extended, military family. Peepers would be devastated if they disappeared. They’re a part of his identity. Peepers now understands why it’s a sensitive topic.

“Quite a strange thing, it was. No one knows what happened to them. There are quite a few theories. A natural disaster, perhaps. Or a pandemic. Oh, how I would have loved to see one in its prime” the doctor sighs.

“Prime?” Peepers asks hastily. Now that he has an information source, he wants to know everything.

Peepers gets another strange look.

“Uh. Not just a skeleton.” the doctor spells out, flicking his hand in the direction of Hater’s unconscious form. He looks at Peepers with concerned. Peepers doesn’t notice. He’s too busy being startled.

“Wait. Wait. So what you're saying is, he was more than just skeleton?” Peepers ask amazed. Hater used to be alive? Like alive alive? He tries to imagine what Lord Hater must have been like but he can't form a clear picture in his head. The current Hater is all he’s ever known.

“Uh, yeah that's how skeletons work, kid.” the doctor says, more than a little freaked out at this fellow's ignorance of basic facts.

Peepers grabs the doctor by the bottom of his shirt, yanking him down so their faces are level.

“What was he like?” Peepers asks breathlessly. “Before?”

The doctor is suddenly  _ very _ aware of the firearm at Peepers’ waist. “u-uh, big! Large with lots of muscles! And covered in thick fur!” he babbles.

There’s a picture forming in his mind of an alive Lord Hater, giant, strong, and terrifying. He would have been amazing. Peepers gasps for breath. He’s frantic at this point. “But, but how did he get like this?!”

He waves his arm towards Lord Hater. What had Lord Hater been through for this to happen? It must have been painful to lose all your flesh. Peepers fills with guilt. This had happened to his Lord Hater. Someone had done this to His Lord Hater.

“He died, son.” the doctor says slowly, pulling against Peepers hold on him. He’s decided that he needs to satisfy this little maniac, and get away from him as soon as possible.

“No, no. This particular skeleton.” Peepers tries to explain with ecstatic gestures. “He’s my boss!”

“Sure he is” the doctor agrees with him, trying to back away. Peepers still has hold of his shirt and yanks him onto the ground. The idiot didn't believe him!

“He is not dead!” Peepers tells him. “Look at his head! There’s eyes in it! Dead skeletons don’t have eyes!”

Cromusle glances over to where Peepers is pointing. The doctor had noticed that there was something inside of the skull. He had been going to investigate before he had found someone to talk to. He had been so glad to share his knowledge because hardly anyone's interested these days. Serves him right.

“That’s not eyes, son. Eyes can't survive without surrounding tissue. That’s most likely shrapnel or some other projectile that contributed to its death.” the doctor says grumpily. To prove his point to the eyeball fellow, he reaches forward to remove the object.

Lord Hater wakes screaming, vaulting forward and smashing his face into the doctors. Someone had been trying to touch his eyes.

Peepers lets go of doctor Cromusle, stepping back with a smug expression.

The doctor retreats, holding the side of his face where it struck Lord Hater. Lord Hater watches him confused. His heart pounds and he feels faint. It’s so hot, the bone bleaching sun streaming down on him.

“You're alive!” some idiot in front of him gasps.

“Of course I’m alive!” Hater screams at him. “What else would I be?!”

“I did tell you.” Hater hears Peepers say. Hater turns to look at him. Peepers is speaking to the idiot, who in turn, has crawled a few meters away and collapsed, babbling.

“It’s alive. A skeleton that talks, just got right up off the ground. Just sat right up and screamed. A skeleton! Just-”

Hater tunes him out, categorizing him as irrelevant. He focuses on what the hell is going on. He’s in stone and skeleton desert place. He remembers coming here now and walking around. It had been cool and amusing until about five minutes after the uncomfortable tour guide lady stopped trying to console him. He’d been super bored but he had kept going because he hadn’t wanted to go back to the ship yet. He stopped for a rest and must have fallen asleep.

One thing he was sure of, Peepers had not been with him before. Hater turns to look at Peepers, who's looking right back at him. Hater can’t identify his expression. Shock? Upset maybe? Anyway Hater doesn’t think it's good.

“Sir,” Peepers says, in a quiet voice. “Why didn’t you tell me you used to be organic?”

What?! What! What! What! How did Peepers find out? He had been so careful! So careful. This wasn’t supposed to happen!

Then Hater remember the idiot. Another glance at him confirms he looks decidedly smart-y. He has glasses and a collection of science stuff which was now scattered on the ground. He must have known about Hater somehow.

If only he hadn’t fallen asleep this never would have happened. Stupid. Stupid!

How much had this idiot told Peepers? How much did he know? How much had Peepers respect for him fallen?

“What did he tell you?” Lord Hater manages, the sounds catching in his throat. He feels the discomfort crawling through him. Peepers must see it too.

Peepers gapes at him. He’s almost as unnerved as Hater. He accepted Lord Hater to be angry or indifferent. Instead Lord Hater looked ashamed. Curving in on himself in the same way he had four days ago at the parade. Lord Hater shouldn’t ever look like that. Ever.

“Not much.” Peepers says as consoling as he can. His thirst for information has fallen away from him. He doesn’t need to know anything else, he decides. Not right now. Not when probing could cause a fight even worse than their last.

“Just what you used to look like, big and with fur.” Peepers hesitates for a second, not sure whether to mention the next thing.

“And that you’re species disappeared.” he finishes, deciding it would be better to tell the truth.

Lord Hater doesn’t look any worse after he tells him this so Peepers counts it as a small victory.

The smart idiot hadn’t told him much then. It wasn’t too bad, he could still contain it. Hater menacing glares at the idiot to make sure he doesn’t do any more damage.

“I’m sorry the rest of your kind are gone.” Peepers says. Hater cringes. He wishes he didn’t because Peepers is so sympathetic, so compassionate. Peepers is standing there with his arms floating up near his waist, not sure what to do with his hands. Hater wants to lean forward and hug him because it’s Peepers and he’s the best friend Hater has.

But he can’t. If he does Hater knows he’ll start sobbing and confessing everything. And its Peepers, the best friend he has and Hater can’t have Peepers thinking about him like that.

So Hater doesn’t reach out, he pulls his arms back against his body and tries to look as composed as he can.

Peepers watches him flinch at the mention of the rest of his species. Haters eyes screw up just a little and Peepers wishes he’d never mentioned it.

“Um, sir.” Peepers changes the subject. “The reason I came looking for you was that the refuelling is finished. We get out of here now”

There’s a pause then,

“Good, that's good” Hater says.

 

* * *

 

 

They don’t talk on their way back to the ship. When Hater has a second to calm down after the horror of Peepers knowing (he doesn’t know, it’s fine), he realizes how tired he is. Lord Hater had just woken up from the best sleep he’d had since Esw, and it wasn’t that great.

Everything’s been not great all round since Esw. He had been out like a light the first night. Hater was exhausted from crying and fear, tension the only thing holding his body up. Then the nightmares had happened, far worse than Hater had gotten in a long time.

_ He’s in a bronze acropolis, rising up from the centre of the city. It’s a place he’s well familiar, on a planet he once called home. She helped design this place, when it was rebuilt after the earthquakes. He recognizes the patterns on the columns surrounding him. He remembers variations and plans for them littering her desk. The one that had been chosen was the one he liked least. It’s not like his opinions matter. This one's probably nicer than anything he could have come up with. _

_ He’s not sure how long he’s been up here, on a higher floor while the party was in full swing down below. It’s nice here, though, with all the openness and a clear view to the city lights beneath him. The evening wind disturbs his fur, some of it flopping down into his eyes. He brushes it back with his hand, his nails cool against the skin on his forehead. _

_ Somethings off, just not quite right but he’s not sure what it is. Maybe that he’s been here so long by himself. Normally she wouldn't let him be by himself for so long. He’s not even sure what he’s doing up here.  _

_ He wanders aimlessly for a while before he hears her footsteps. They’re distant like she’s coming up some far away stairs. He’s not pleased that she’s come but is something close to that. Like relief. He never does well on his own too long. _

_ Then she’s right in front of him, her face pulled into a soft scowl. _

_ “I cannot believe you did that.” she says in a low hiss. _

_ “I’m sorry.” he replies, off instinct alone. He doesn’t know what he did but knowing him it was probably bad. _

_ “Sorry?” she echoes, as though she’d invented the word and he’d been using it upside down. “I have never been more embarrassed in my life.” _

_ “I didn’t mean to.” he says, stuttering under the weight of his guilt. Whatever it was, he hadn’t meant it. _

_ She kicks him then. It doesn’t hurt but he would have stood there and taken it if it had. She shouldn’t have done it while wearing such expensive shoes, though. He isn’t worth that much. _

_ “I don’t even know what to do with you, AoU.” _

_ His name on her lips carries the same wrong feeling as before. He doesn’t stop to think on it. Not with her anger like a lava flow slowly enveloping a small village. It’s beautiful and calm to onlookers and in the same way he wants to reach out and touch it. _

_ He knows not to. She’ll only be displeased when he gets burnt. _

_ Instead he just stands there and wishes he could help her figure out what to do. He can't, he’s so useless but he can wish. _

_ “Don’t. Look at me.” slithers off her tongue. _

_ His eyes widen and then snap to the floor. He should have known. Stupid stupid. _

_ Now that he can’t see her face he has even less clue what to do than before. So he apologises again. _

_ “I am truly sorry, miss. I won’t happen again.” _

_ There’s a pause. _

_ “Your right. It won’t.” he tone has changed to that of a cat that's cornered her prey. _

_ “Walk with me.” she says. He does. _

_ She stops ten feet away from the edge, where the floor drops away and the night air runs free. _

_ He stops beside her. _

_ “Keep walking” _

_ He stops again at the edge, staring out at mountains beyond the city. _

_ “Now jump” she says, pleased with herself. _

_ He looks down, tries to will up his courage. The once comforting city lights were now harbingers of death. The gap between here and the pavement had never seemed so wide _

_ “I can’t.” he says in surrender. She sighs and he knows he disappointed her. At least this will be the last time. _

_ “Of course you can't.” she says, striding towards him and resting her hand on his shoulder. “You can’t do anything without me.” _

_ And then she pushes him. The city lights don’t have time to say goodbye before he hits the ground. _

Hater awoke, almost displeased to find himself alive. He kept himself awake on purpose after that.

There wasn’t a lot he could do when he was feeling this crap. But he needs some way to block out the bad memories that show up exactly when he doesn’t want them. Not that he ever wanted them. They make him want to cry again but he’s already done that three or four times. It seems like less effort block the memories out.

Even video games seemed like a bit much then so he watched reruns of say yes to the dress. He bites his tongue any time the thoughts got too much. Even getting up seemed more than he could do. She was right about him.

He didn’t want to go back to her though, not when she’d just kill him. Maybe even if she wouldn’t.

He didn’t want to do anything. Didn’t want to be anything.

He’d just lays around trying not to think too much and avoiding everything. Especially Peepers. To his surprise Peepers didn’t try to seek him out. Hater never even saw him until this morning. It made him think that maybe Peepers was avoiding him back.

Peepers is good. Hater can be useful when they are together. But they weren’t together. He doesn’t want Peepers to ask him questions. Peepers probably didn’t want to be around him after how Hater had reacted.

He eats more, raids the kitchen in the night, only coming out during Peepers’ sleep shifts. His metabolism speeds up when he’s stressed. And boy was he stressed. Peepers most likely knew it was him stealing gallons of soda.

Hater felt like he was attempting some weird hibernation. But with less sleeping and peace.

He didn’t have much of a plan beyond ‘avoid’ and hope the feelings ravaging his mind get better or go away. Hater felt like maybe he wouldn’t ever feel better, wouldn’t leave his room again. It was like he couldn’t see a future for himself outside what was happening now. He didn’t even what to.

Hater felt like everything was messed up, like the personhood he had built for himself had collapsed. Like he couldn’t go back to normal.

It wasn’t exactly responsible behaviour. He has an empire to run, he can't just hide away in his room every time he has a bad day. Who knows what the Watchdogs thought of his disappearing act. Or what Peepers thought.

Peepers. Lord Hater glances ahead at him as they walked back to the skull ship, with Peepers leading. It was hard to tell what Peepers was thinking from behind. Or at all. Hater wonders if Peepers is still mad at him.

He didn’t seem mad earlier, just concerned. But who knows how long that would last. Maybe Hater had ruined his friendship with Peepers. They’d fought before but never like this. Peepers had been so angry he was crying when Hater had ordered him to leave.

Would they even be able to work together after this? (Would Hater even be able to work after this?)

Would Peepers even want to work for him anymore? Hater assumed Peepers had been running everything the last couple of days. Maybe Peepers would finally figure out that he didn’t need Hater, that he could do this without him.

Hater could always just fire him.

No. he dismissed the thought as soon as it came to him. Hater had fired him before and that had been a disaster. Peepers was good at his job and he yelled a lot, which was a bonus. If he fired Peepers then Hater wouldn’t get to see him anymore.

Besides Hater didn’t want to fire Peepers. Lord Hater didn’t want to replace him. He was pretty sure he wanted Peepers to stay.

He would have to try and fix things, then.

Hater didn’t speak. No until they were alone together in the elevator of one of the secondary entrances.

“So, uh, where are we?”

“Lonom 9.” Peepers replies. He’s trying to find an inconspicuous way to stare at Hater long enough to gage his emotional state.

“Quadrant Xb” Peepers adds as an afterthought.

Hater’s brow goes up. They had travelled six quadrants in four days, an impressive distance. That was all hands on deck, super-duper emergency speed. No wonder they had needed to stop.

“That’s uh, good job” Hater says. Peepers looks at him surprised before his eye lights up like it does when he’s really happy. It makes Hater feels just a little bit happy back. He has to remember to do it more.

Peepers opens his eye wide so Hater can’t see his blush. Compliments were so rare from Hater.

“Well, you asked me to, sir.” Peepers says. He would have done it even if it hadn’t been an order. He trusts Lord Hater even if he doesn't understand. It doesn’t stop him from worrying though.

“Yeah, well if it's been four days she proba- uh.” Hater catches himself before starting again. “We can go back to normal . . . ship . . . stuff now. Yeah.”

Peepers looks ups at him with slight incredulous. “Are you sure, sir?”

Lord Hater give him a small nod and an even smaller smile. “Yeah. I am.”

Peepers smiles back. He isn’t done with this, but at least they were talking again, not screaming at each other.

“Well, sir. If that's the case, there are several planets with key vulnerabilities in this quadrant. Maybe we can have a meeting tomorrow to talk about which ones we should invade?” Peepers asks, and it's definitely a question. He’s hopeful but he's not sure how fast things can go back to normal. Or if they will at all.

Lord Hater smiles again. “Yeah, Peepers. We can definitely do that.”

Peeper looks Lord Hater up close for the first time in a while. Hater looks relieved and content. Had he worried about the outcome of this conversion? He wasn’t anymore, at least. Most of all Lord Hater looks tired. His eyes are red, and sore judging by how slow Hater blinks them. He looks like it’s taking him an enormous amount of effort just to stand there smiling.

Peepers Knows that feeling. He gets it often. He works hard for this job. (No you don’t. lazy).  **He does** and he’s burnt himself out more than he can count. Some days faking confidence is the hardest thing in the world. Some days his every movement hurts. It’s common for Peepers.

Lord Hater however, should not feel that way. Ever.

“Well, it’s been a long day, sir. I think we could both use some rest.” Peepers says. It’s false on his account, Peepers can't sleep yet. There are things he needs to do.

Across from him Hater feels guilty. He did nothing all day. He’d left all the work to peeper. As if he has any right to be tired. Still, if Peepers is going to get some sleep, then he might as well too. Then he can be good for the meeting tomorrow.

“Yeah, good idea, peeps.”

Peepers walks Lord Hater back to his room and then leaves in the direction of his bedroom. He switches direction after Lord Hater goes inside. He heads toward the security room that he had recently taken over and banned everyone else from.

On the screens are every pixel of footage captured on the day of the Eswn invasion. Peepers had compiled every single scrap he could find. From their own cameras, from security cameras hacked by technicians sworn (screamed) to secrecy. He had every armature social media capture. He had news reports. He’d called seventeen television stations. He got unedited video by posing as a member of their upper management.

From the angle and direction of Hater’s gaze at the millisecond that he saw ‘the threat’ (as he’d termed it), Peepers had narrowed the threatening area to just under 70 square meters. Which equalled four stores, the pavement, the street in front, and the alleyways between. He’d been searching through every person, vehicle, object, sign and piece of street art. He had categorizing them by threat level.

Lord Hater had said to stop asking him question. He hadn’t said anything about this.

Peepers still wasn’t sure what he would do when he found the threat. He could confront Lord Hater. Or he could track down the threat and make them pay for ever making Lord Hater look that afraid.

Anyway now, Peepers had something to narrow his investigation down with. ‘Well if it's been four days she-’. That’s what Hater had said before he interrupted himself. SHE, singular, female, presumably organic. It was actually a lot to go on.

Peepers gets to work excluding suspects. By the time he’s exhausted enough to fall asleep at his desk he’s narrowed it down to three suspects. Two are Eswn residents, one a shop worker and the other a tourist from another city. Neither of them have criminal records or records of ever leaving Esw. He’s sure, he scoured their social media and call the some of their family members. If Lord Hater had known the threat was on Esw, wouldn’t he have refused to take over it? Peepers is sure it’s neither of them. He still gathers every detail on them, just in case.

The third is an unknown, which makes Peepers suspicious on principle. There is no record of her entering Esw through official channels. Which isn’t unheard of, not everyone travels by conventional methods. But Peepers doesn’t even know what species she is. She’s not traveling with anyone. She never presents any kind of identification.

She spent most of the day shopping, but she paid in cash every time, so there is no record of a digital transaction. Peepers wishes he could interview the store clerks. He tried to follow her movements to or from her ship or where she was saying. He needed something that could give him information about her identity. But after a while she just disappears, leaves the sight of one camera and never enters another. It’s the same with her appearance, she just pops up out of nowhere.

Peepers doesn’t like her one bit.

He falls asleep while watching facial recognition run on the clearest picture he has of her. He does it just for species because that would help enormous amount. He falls asleep glaring at her smug expression and her stupid purple hair.

Purple hair. Peepers thinks as the last of his consciousness leaves him. That’s sounds familiar.

 

* * *

 

 

Twenty seven hours later and 47 light years from Lonom 9, on Vani 3, in the national museum of history.

One doctor Rashabust Cromusle PHD sits in his office.

It’s after hours. Most other Employees have long since left and are at home now eating and relaxing with their families. Rashabust has had a long couple of days. What with his recent scare and the strain of economy interplanetary travel. But he needs to finish his review of the skeleton fields for the travel magazine he also writes for. Museum salaries aren’t something to brag about. He pauses for a second to rub his eyes.

There’s a knock at his door. Rashabust looks up surprised. He didn’t think anyone was still here. It was most likely Mara wishing him a good night and asking him to lock up.

“Come in.” he calls.

The door opens with a swoosh. Then a crack as it's pulled off its hinges. The doctor starts back, his chair hitting the shelves behind him.

He didn’t expect another two Artifex lignarius vasum to come walking into his office. These ones still had skin and flesh. Well, sort of. One had large chunks missing out of it and the other was skeleton on the left side and organic on the right.

The Rashabusts’ first thought is that the skeleton had sent these two. He re-evaluates when a woman walks in after them. She’s tall, and ducks smoothly under the door frame. The doctor know who she is in an instant. Well, not who she is. He knows what she is.

“Good evening, doctor.” the woman says calmly, the rich sound of her words fills the room, like expensive perfume. Rashabust tries to push his way backward through his wall. She raises a single sleek eyebrow at him. He stops abruptly. He glances around the room. One of the Artifex lignarius vasum is blocking the doorway and the other is standing in front of the window. He has no escape. That is not a good sign.

He clears his throat. “M-m-may I help you?”

She smiles like sorcery. ‘Yes, I believe you can. I heard you recently sighted a live faron, yes?”

Faron. That was what her kind used to call the Artifex lignarius vasum. This is crazy. Both of them are supposed to be dead.

“How did you hear that?” the doctor asks in surprise. He’d only told one other person, a collage and casual friend, who of course didn’t believe him. He couldn’t imagine how this woman got a hold that information, especially in such a short time.

The woman's smile grows, though she keeps her lips closed and her teeth hidden. “I have good ears.” she tells him.

She takes four fluid steps toward his desk before swooping down so she’s on his eye level. Her long purple hair brushes across the top of Rashabust’s desk. Her voice is honeyed and appealing.

“Now, doctor. I need you to tell me everything that happened.”


	3. Progno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hater had been starting to feel good again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited the other two chapters, but it was just grammar stuff. It's actually amazing how many capitals and full stops i missed.
> 
> Mentions of death and blood in this chapter but it's no one you know.

The morning after Lonom 9, Lord Hater woke up to the smell of a piping hot caramel latte (with extra cream). he rolled over and saw one of the nicest looking cups of coffee and folded piece of paper with his name on it. From Peepers, most likely outlining the details of the day.

He feels good, well rested for the first time since Esw. The constant ache in his spine is barely noticeable today. The anxiety in the bottom of his stomach has been soothed. And the best part?

Peepers is talking to him again.

Good morning, sir.  
I’ve reserved conference room 4 for the meeting today. I’ve scheduled it for 10:30, please tell me if you would like this changed.  
Peepers.

Hater reads it over while sipping at his coffee. The steam rises from it, warming his face. He remembers the talk with Peepers, the intention to begin conquering again. He remembers the small smile flittering across wary eyelids. He feels good.

The note is very Peepers-y, even using his favourite font. It’s a nice but not reading disability friendly, so it didn’t get used for general watchdog stuff.

Hater’s seen Peepers own work, report drafts and plans. He always uses that font.  
Peepers knows Hater reads pretty well, so Peepers uses it in his notes to him sometimes.

Hater checks the time, 7:43. That's plenty of time to get ready. He definitely needs a shower. Hater hasn’t had one in quite a while.

 

* * *

 

 

The meeting is small, some lieutenants, representatives from different sectors, and Peepers.

“Good morning, sir” Peepers says again, vocally this time. He looks kind of bad, his eye is all veiny and like he's trying not to slump.

What happened to Peepers getting some rest? Peepers looks like he’s been up all night.

“Morning, Commander.” Hater replies. He knows Peepers is proud of his rank. Peepers perks up just a little.

“How are you this morning?” Hater follows his greeting with a question.

“Very well, sir.” Peepers lies through his charming teeth. “And you, sir?”

He’s still incredibly upbeat and perseverant about this. Peepers is steadily holding the expression that’s the watchdog equivalent of content and professional. He even managed to hold his mask together through a stifled yawn. Hater knows the twitch in peeper’s eye means he has a headache.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Hater replies.

“Well, sir. If you’ll have a seat, we can get started.” Peepers tells him. He's being purposefully pleasant. Lord Hater appreciates how much he's trying to return things to normal. Hater decides not to mention Peepers sleepless appearance. His Commander is responsible enough to keep himself healthy.

Peepers was right about there being some good planets in this quadrant.

And Hater is fully aware of how difficult he is being as he turns them all down.

The first planet seemed good, plentiful resources, no solid alliances, and little interplanetary trade. Perfect for conquering.

But the president has purple hair. The president isn't her, not even close but the sight of that hair sets Hater on edge.

The president could be in league with her. But so could anyone.

Hater glanced around the conference room. They probably weren't.

Also, Hater didn’t know if he would be able to interact with someone so similar to her as intimidatingly as he needed to. Or at all.

“No, not that one.” he says in an authoritative tone.

Hater expects Peepers to object, to ask why. He doesn’t.

Peepers just says “Alright, sir.” And moves on to the next planet.

This one's nice too. The inhabitants are in the middle of their third industrial era and they’ve gone about it in an environmentally conscious way this time.

They have efficient renewable energy and a stable yet growing economy.  
Peepers has information on everything because he's Peepers. This planet is in a time of social, cultural and artistic prosperity.

The major cities are lit with swanky clubs and lavish hotels. There's a complex and highly classist social structure which Peepers describes in a disturbing amount of detail. It's exactly the kind of place she would love.

“Nope!” Hater declares. “Not that one either!”

Peepers doesn’t even blink. “Next ecriria-7, with three moons and plenty full fresh water.”

As Peepers talks, Hater notices the other watchdogs surprised looks when Peepers doesn't argue with him. Peepers pointedly does not notice.

Peepers is usually efficient at attending to Haters’ objection. Now he just accepts them. Haters grateful for it.

The next three planets are no good either. There's always something about them that reminds Hater of her.

The idea of her is stuck in his mind, polluting all his thoughts. Hater knows he's being stupid but it feels like the only way to avoid being suffocated is to get as far away from those thoughts as possible.

Eventually, there's a muddy plain planet. It has horrendous weather patterns and several precariously alliances tribes. Hater knows it's a poor invasion choice but she would have hated this planet.

“That one looks good.” Hater says casually.

“Excellent choice, sir.” Peepers agrees with him. The watchdogs look increasingly dubious.

Peepers pulls up a list of positives aspects of that planet, Progno.  
“Scan show it has large stores of untapped rare metals and minerals. That will be useful.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Hater says in a total bluff. It's the worst planet he could have picked. But it will be easy. He’s starting small after -

He pushes that thought away, not wanting to admit that anything had changed.

“Great. Ted, how's out invasion budget?” Peepers asks.

“Uh, good. We could go through with ten invasions this quarter.”

The other watchdogs know that it's an easy conquer. That means less work for them. Plus their bosses’ bad moods from the past week could still reappear. So they go with it.

A date is set for the invasion, three days from now. Plenty of time for Peepers to make plans and obsess over all the details. Peepers seems glad he gets to do that again, though.

Hater leaves the meeting feeling good. A few days ago he hadn’t been able to shower, let alone invade something. Things were starting to get better again.

* * *

  
  
“Wait, wait. I thought the Progno-onians had bigger ears.” Lord Hater says, poking at the figurines on Peepers’ statistical model.

“Sir! The model's anatomical accuracy is hardly relevant.” Peepers snaps. He snatches the toppled figurine away and delicately sets it in its place

“Calm down, peeps. I don't care what they look like.” Hater tells him.

Peepers pauses his model correcting, in the realisation that Hater was joking. He lets out a relieved breath, glad this wasn't going to be difficult. “Well, sir. Back to the task at hand?”

“Mh, yeah. Kay go.” Hater says.

“Okay. So we’ll land here.” Peepers says, moving the tiny skull ship to his desired spot.

“At approximately 1500. It's where three of the major tribes' territories' borders each other. They treat it like a sort of neutral ground.

We use a large number of groups with blasters, firing warning shots but not at the populous unless they attack first. This should have a large intimidation factor, as they don't have blaster technology yet. I calculate the likelihood of immediate surrender at just over 70% if we do this right.”

“Right. Coz they got like, their families with them and they’ll want to keep them safe.” Hater replies. It's just him and peeper for this briefing. Peepers explains his plans with him first in case Hater has any objection. Hater likes it because he doesn’t have to be as strictly professional. And Peepers doesn't mind if he asks stupid questions.

“Exactly.” Peepers replies, looking pleased. “The head families of the three tribes; kar, en and eo, will be staying there. Along with a considerable portion of their subjects, to celebrate and reaffirm their alliance. The leaders will negotiate terms and such and there is feasting-”

“How come we never have feasts?” Hater interrupts.

“Sir!” Peepers berates the tangent, though not unkindly.

“Right, right, sorry.” Hater says, waving his hands for Peepers to continue.

“Okay, well-”  
“Because I think we could use a feast or two. Ya know, to boost morale.” Hater says, mind still on the feasting.

Peepers groans, but he doesn’t sound particularly annoyed. By the way he’s covering the line of his closed eyelids with his hand, Hater thinks he might even be hiding a smile.

Hater does his best not to outright grin.

Peepers takes a few second to regain his composure before speaking. “Okay, how about we have a feast when we meet a reasonable number of planets conquered?”

Hater takes a moment to pretend to consider. “Yes! That is acceptable.” He declares, regally.

“I'm glad it pleases you, my Lord” peeper replies, matching his tone. Hater can see the light in his eye. He's missed this.

“May I continue with my plans, oh supreme one.” Peepers asks, a small smile playing on his lids.

“You may.” Hater answers, as dramatically as possible.

Peepers takes a deep breath. “After we land, we’ll surround the neu-”

“How many planets is a reasonable amount?” Hater interrupts, purposefully waiting for Peepers to start again so he could. He's dropped his mock authoritative tone. He sounds curious.

Peepers actually laughs this time. He goes to huff but ends up snickering instead and then devolves into plain shaking with laughter, hiding his eye in his arms.

Hater smiles as Peepers shakes his head, trying to catch his breath. Hater hasn’t seen Peepers laugh in a long time.

“You. Are ridiculous.” Peepers says but he’s smiling.

“It's a legitimate question.” Hater says, his attempt at innocence permeated by a grin.

“And I will legitimately answer it at a later date.” Peepers replies.

“That is all I ask.” Hater says, gracefully bowing his head and lift an arm to wave across the model. “Please continue.”

“Okay,” Peeper says with a light kind of curtness. “But if you interrupt me, I will push you onto the floor.”

“That would not be appropriate mission briefing behaviour.” Hater tells him, smirking.

“Nothing you do is appropriate behaviour.” Peepers shoots back.

“Is bickering appropriate behaviour?” Hater asks.

Peepers just looks at him, his gaze soft but wry. He blows out a deep breath. He looks nice, Hater thinks.

Then Peepers continues. “After we land -here-, we will surround the neutral zone. We will moves in until we reach the meeting grounds, at the centre. Are you following?”

Hater nods. They’re back to professional but the moments not gone. They are working together again, quite well, in fact. Hater is glad things are back on the right track.

* * *

  
  
Progno, two days later.

“ATTENTION PROGNO-ONIANS! THIS PLANET HAS BEEN CAPTURED BY THE HATER EMPIRE. SURRENDER IMMEDIATELY AND NO HARM WILL COME TO YOU.” Peepers screamed into the megaphone. His voice carries through the surrounding flatlands. He looks over the large groupings of tents and spaces for dance and play.

Below him was chaos, confused people undecided on whether to flee or fight. Children crying, people screaming. Then a sea of organised, identical watchdog battalions spreads through the mess, taking over, converting it. Perfect.

“I REPEAT! SURRENDER AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED!”

The message seems to get through to the Progno-onians this time, many of them below ceasing to scamper. They throw their hands high in surrender, begging for mercy from their armed assailants. It sends shivers down Peepers’ spine.

“Commander, Sir!” A messenger from one of his lieutenants calls for his attention as she arrives at a sprint. Peeper acknowledges her with a nodded glance and a “soldier.” She's one of Percy’s, peeper third best lieutenant. Peepers remembers this messenger from training, physically brilliant but not the brightest. He tries to remember her name. Something with a k.

The messenger steps closer to him, close enough for Peepers to see the tension in her stance, the fear in her eyes.

“We’ve met resistance in the north east area, sir. A group of young males with primitive projectile weapons. Squadron 23a has them cornered but are struggling to hold them. Three confirmed casualties, including Lieutenant Percy.” The messenger rattle off, stern with an undercurrent of panic. Her volume just below a scream to be heard above the roar of battle.

Dammit. Peeper snarls. Losing Percy was not appreciated. His brain pounces at this new problem, analysing it and formulating a plan within seconds.

“Have 23a make a strategic retreat, some need to evacuate the wounded. The rest are to help secure those who have already surrender. Go.” Peepers gives his new orders.

“And the resisting males, sir?” She asks. Peepers frowns. She should have left already, doing as he orders and not sticking around to question him. But Peepers supposes these males did kill her squadron mates so he decides not to reprimand her.

Well, perhaps just a warning talk, after this is over.

“I have it handled.” Peepers tells her firmly, hoping she would have confidence in his methods.

“Right.” She nods, the straight line of her expression lessening just a tad. Peepers knows he won’t have any disobedience from her.

Then she’s off again, reaching her peak speed almost instantly. Peepers watches her power along for a second before focusing on his mission once more.

Peeper pulls out his communicator, activating it. He chooses the first number on speed dial. The Id flashes and Peepers holds the comm up to his ear.

“Hater.” His Lord’s gruff voice answers when the lines connect.

“Sir, its me.” Peepers identifies himself briskly. The problem with Hater having his communicator in his hand is that he doesn't have caller id.

“They surrendered already?” Hater asks, mild surprise in his voice.

“Most of them. There’s a small group of ‘heroes’ who are still giving us some trouble.” Peepers replies in a tempting tone.

Peepers can almost hear Haters’ anticipation.

“Can you take care of them for me?” Peepers asks. On the other end of the line, Peepers knows Hater is grinning.

“Sure thing, Where’m I looking?” Hater says, buzzing with excitement.

“North east of the neutral zone. Approximately 10 young males.” Peepers says.

“On it.” Hater growls, too excited than was decent. Peepers loved when he got like this.

Peepers sees the green lightning flicking through the air from his vantage point. It explodes near the ground, hundreds of meters away, down on the battlefield. An ant-sized Lord Hater appears in its remnants. Peepers considers the situation handled and turns his attention to the main group of Progno-onians.

His enemy is surrounded. The surrendered whimpers rise from the crowd, scared parents hush their clueless children. Peepers decides now is the time to descend from the tongue platform at the mouth of the skull ship.

He begins his walk toward his captives, Helmet glinting in the cloud-filtered light.

The foot soldiers begins shushing each other and the captives. They push the few progo-onians still standing to the ground with the barrel of their blasters. The watchdogs know what is coming but the Progno-onians only become more afraid with this change in behaviour. The Progno-onians grow restless, scrambling inward, huddling closer to each other.

“Congratulations, progo-onians.” Peepers’ voice cuts through the anguish, confused heads turning towards him. Peepers sees thousands of pairs of eyes staring at his. Reds and oranges and the occasional yellow pair set deep in dark skulls.

“For making the reasonable choice to continue living. There is no fighting Lord Hater and his empire. There is surrender and there is death.” Peepers smirks at the captives’ reaction to his words. Some scowl, others lose their hope in gushes.

“Now a good time to show up.” Haters puffing voice filters through his earpiece. Peepers grins. He sends a ‘y’ through comm message before continuing, strutting a few steps closer.

“Unfortunately.” Rolls of Peepers tongue. This was going to be so good. “Some individuals have chosen to risk your lives. And the lives of your children.” Peepers shout is almost joyous. A shiver runs through the crowd.

“By resisting us, and invalidating your surrender, ALL YOUR LIVES BECOME FORFEIT.”

A single cry comes forth from the mass of beings in front of him. A lone individual loses their composure and scrabbles for escape. The noise quickly silenced at Peepers glare.

“However.” Peepers relents his fierce tone, just a little as he says this.

“Lord Hater can be merciful,” Peepers says. The air behind him ripples with malevolent energy. “On occasion.”

Hater solidifies behind him in a rush of electricity, thunder echoing his arrival. Peepers can hear the ground shift underneath his weight.

Peepers glances back, casually, unconcerned. Lord Hater looms over him, his presence only adding to Peepers courage. There is Hater given bravado driving through his veins.

Hater unceremoniously drops the load in his arms, drawing them back up to his hips afterward. 8 or 9 men fall to the ground. Peeper doesn’t know whether they are dead or just unconscious. It doesn't matter, either way, they aren't moving. There is blood.

“So, he has made a decision.” Peepers declares airily. Lord Hater steps forward to stand beside him. He looks impossibly terrifying.

“It is not your fault your comrades conspired to kill you.” He says, as close to sincere as Peepers gets. “So we have made the decision to spare your lives.”

Collective relief spreads for the crowd.

“As for these radicalists, who almost put an end you and your new place under Lord Hater rule, they shall be made an example of. So no one dares to take such actions toward you again.” Peepers’ voice rings out in the open space. His small body seems amplified in his position of power.

Lord Hater's turns to look at him in admiration. Only Peepers could make it sound like he was doing them a favour. It was brilliant. There were even a few Cries of thanks from the crowd.

“You need worry no more.” Peepers says. “Lord Hater is a great leader. You may have no fear of alliances collapsing, there will be no more war to ravage your people. You can be unafraid of harsh winters, for none will ever starve again. Under the Hater Empire, you will have structure and order. You will finally be safe.”

Hater beamed down at Peepers as he made his speech, his bared, polished teeth glinting in the war light. This hadn’t been planned, Hater knew. Peepers couldn't have known about the resisting males. Peepers was just making this up as he went.

More positive murmurs rise from the crowd. Individuals spill jumbled thanks to the foot soldiers surrounding them. They have been given a chance to live after their hope was ripped away. They are desperate to take it, to do anything to please these creatures with guns.

Peepers then turns, in one swooping move, to face him.

“Lord Hater.” Peepers calls, voice filled with dark grandeur. Peepers is as much introducing Lord Hater to the crowd as he is addressing him.

“Thank you, Commander.” Hater replies, gravely and cold enough to cause the crowd to still. He steps into the foreground, towering over everyone else.

Then he addresses the crowd. “Progno-onians!”

Hater pauses then, moving forward a few more meters, nudging a body to the side as he goes. He stretches the silence out while still engaging the crowd with his stare. It’s clear that he is in control.

Thousands of Progno-onians bait their breath, waiting.

Then Hater thrusts his head forward and calls out. “WELCOME! TO THE HATER EMPIRE!”

There are cheers. Actual cheers, at that. Boy does it feel good.

Peepers is at his side again. Out of the corner of Haters’ eye, he can see Peepers practically vibrating with energy.

Hater glances down, making eye contact with his second in command. Peeper grins, a nasty, harsh thing, to match the large blaster held threateningly at his side. Hater knows what it means, though. Peepers thinks he's doing good too.

“TODAY, YOU HAVE MADE A POWERFUL ALLY! THIS IS A PARTNERSHIP THAT WILL BENEFIT YOUR PLANET FAR INTO THE FUTURE!” This is the part of the speech Peepers wrote. Peepers insisted that he must portray the invasion in a positive light. They haven’t done their conquering like this before, not with so much . . . twisting of facts. Hater thinks Peepers is experimenting. It’s probably written down in one of those reports he’s not required to read. Hater isn't sure how he feels about this, how well he’ll be able to do what is needed. He’s never been the best at the brain tricks Peepers can so use so well. That’s one of the best parts of his job, he never has to bargain. He always has the last word, his orders become law. His entire presence demands respect, emits dominance. He never has to earn anything. He likes it that way.

“UNDER MY RULE!” Hater loves that phrase, loves the way it feels on his tongue. “YOU WILL PROSPER! AND IN RETURN, YOU WILL SHARE YOUR PLANET'S RESOURCES WITH MY PEOPLE.”

Hater has his own people, the watchdogs. It’s strange to think about, how possessive he is of them. It’s not like he owns them (never), but something akin to that. He feels like he belongs with them, after all this time.

Lord Hater raises his hand above his head. “TOGETHER!” clenches his fist. “WE WILL THRIVE!”  
It feels right, being here on a planet that is now his, with Peepers’ words in his mouth, his people surrounding him.

Hater steps back. His part of the speech is now complete. He’s about to make the motion to instruct Peepers to continue with the instructions.

Peepers is no longer where he's supposed to be, waiting to smoothly transition with him. His Commander his further back, taking a message from a lower watchdog. The two stand close together, heads bowed with hurried murmurs passing between them.

“Commander.” Lord Hater says, quietly as the other watchdog moves away again. Peepers glances up at him. He looks worried and more than usual. Lord Hater frowns too then, aware something is wrong.

The crowd grows curious, stirring slightly.

“Sir,” Peepers says, matching his low tone. “We have a problem.”

The phrase causes alarm bells in Hater head. He forces himself to stay calm. “And what would that be?”

But then Peepers doesn't need to tell him. The shadow of the enormous approaching ship falls over them. Its hull made of dark metal that glints as it eclipses the sun. It is very large, 10 times the size of the skull ship. A ship of that size could house hundreds of thousands of people. Dark white lights shine from the inside through the few window. The ship is clearly armed with large plasma blasters and missile launchers. It’s a threat display, having so many weapons out in the open, active and standing by. There is no way this ship had peaceful intentions.

“What?!” Hater hisses at Peepers, as nervous cries re-erupt from the crowd.

“They were blocking our scanners!” Peepers squeaked. “Nobody knew they were coming until they were in our line of sight!” Peepers is digging through the transmission information he’s receiving. His eyes flash from his device back to Lord Hater.

“Is it dominator?” Hater asks. It wasn't his ship, not the one from before but dominator could have two. This one was the right size for him, maybe bigger.

“We don't think so, wrong transmission waves.” Peepers says, typing frantically something into his tablet.

“Then, WHAT IS GOING ON?” Hater yells in his face.

“Uhhhhhhh.” Peepers scans his eye across the data he's receiving.  
He doesn't know either.

“Address the Progno-onians.” Hater tells him, patting his shoulder. “Keep us in control.” Hater is trying to be reassuring. Peepers looks up at Hater like I might have worked, just a little.

He steps away from the crowd. He waits long enough to hear Peepers tell them to calm themselves. He’s transporting away, leaving scorch marks on the ground in his wake. Hater goes to the bridge of the skull ship. He storms in and takes control.

“Hater on the bridge.” Someone calls as he walks forward.

“I want information on the ship. I want scans, I want weapon analysis and I want copies of everything sent to Peepers.” Hater declares, and the scurrying increases around him two fold.

“They have sixteen engines, 36 boosters and a nuclear power core.” One watchdog screams above the noise to him from one of the scanning consoles. Hater doesn’t understand exactly what that means but he knows it's more than what the skull ship has. More boosters means faster ship means if Hater tries to run and the other ship could catch them.

“They have weapons far stronger than ours, sir.” Another watchdog yells up at him. “Holy krap, they have three proton blasters.”

So the skull ship was out gunned as well. This wasn’t looking good.

“Have they tried to make contact?!” Hater asks. Perhaps they could negotiate, give up the planet and get away without damage. Hater was happy to make that sacrifice if it meant they all lived.

“No, sir,” the communications officer tells him. “Not yet.”

“I want to know the second they do." Hater tells him. Then he's spinning around to be informed about the ship's ‘nuclear stats’, whatever that was. The watchdog telling him about it looked concerned, so Hater assumed it wasn’t good.

He checks the feeds from on the ground, needs to see what's happening and how Peepers doing.  
But as he steps toward the screen, the high voice of the communications officer screams, “sir! They’re signalling us!”

“Put them on hold!” Lord Hater orders. He needs a second to compose himself.

“I can't!” She yells back, tiny fingers flying across her keys. The flashing warning on her screen indicating the presence of malware. “They're bypassing my control!”

Then it happens.

A smooth disembodied voice booms into the bridge, surrounding Hater. “Hello, prongo and its assailants.”

On the screens from the battlefield Hater sees Peepers turn as well. He hears the voice, his pupil falling wide. The voice is coming through the audio feeds too, everyone can hear it. It’s coming from everywhere, the strange ship, the comm, out of the air itself.

Lord Hater is the only one who recognises it. The feminine curve of the tone, the barely noticeable sharp edge. It's her voice. It’s her.

Haters stomach drops, a sick nausea bursting through his body. His body trembles, he can't seem to stop shaking. He grips his rib cage with one hand, sucking in breath like he might never breathe again. All that is in his mind is the overwhelming terror and a single thought. ‘Her’.

“I am not here to harm you.” She says her voice sincere but Hater knows better.

“Don’t trust her.” He hisses out, mostly to himself but he sees a few of the watchdogs around him nod.

“I have no quarrel with the Progno-onians and small eyeball men. I am only interested in the faron.”

That word slips onto Hater like tailored clothes with razor blades hidden in the seams. That word is everything he hates about himself. It’s everything he's tried to escape from.

“Surrender it and there will be no conflict between us.”

Hater is going to throw up. He can’t think. She’s here for him. He clenches his fists. Of, course she’s here for him! Why else would she be here! Oh god. Oh god.

“If you do not give the faron up to me, you will face consequences of a . . . violent nature. You have five minutes to respond. Choose wisely.” Threat made, the signal cuts off, and Hater flops to his knees. He gasps for air, breathing deep and quick. As if releasing her hold on the listeners, they snap back into action with one question on their lips.

“What the heck is faron?”

Hater can hear those exact words coming from Peepers mouth through the feeds from the ground. Faron. Faron. Faron. That word from Peepers mouth is something Lord Hater never wanted to hear. That disgusting, untrusting, soul wrecking feeling wells up inside him and he blocks it out.

“Stop it. It doesn’t matter.” Hater mumbles to himself. He’s gotta get a hold of himself. “There are bigger problems to worry about.”

Hater gulps air and shakes. He tries to figure out what to do. She wants him and she is going to hurt everyone if she doesn't get him.

Back on the ground, Peepers curses some un Commander like words. Some unknown person is threatening his army with overpowered weapons and a ginormous ship. Again! This was becoming a disturbing trend.

“Hold the Progno-onians! And be prepared to evacuate!” He barks orders at the soldiers surrounding him. A few ‘yes, sirs.’ Respond. The watchdogs raise their weapons, and attempting to direct the crowd.

Peepers turns his attention to his comm, calling the bridge.

“Sir!” The answer comes, a few seconds too slow for his liking.

“I want the evaluation of that ship's weapon systems, stat.” He barks.

“It's already on your data-vise, sir.” The communications officer replies. Peepers checks his tablet and the info is already there. His eye flicks over the data. He’s not liking what he sees. They’re outgunned with little chance of escape. They will have to make a deal.

Peepers takes a breath. The air smells like dirt.

“Utia, activate all shields, and have all personal battle ready, code 38364! Immediately!”

“Yes, sir!” She responds before pulling the microphone away from her mouth to yell across the bridge. Peepers hears some of the surrounding noise; watchdogs scrambling, fingers on consoles, heavy breathing. Peepers decides he needs to be there and starts toward the ship. He charges forward, though the battalions and is at the tip of the tongue before she gets back to him.

“Done, sir!” Officer Utia says. Peepers can see the ship’s force fields illuminate. The shields surround the ship, seething with defensive red electricity.

“And I want all and any information on ‘farons’.” Peeper requests.

“They’re already looking, sir.” She replies.

“Good. Transfer me to Lieutenant Pete.”

“Roger that, sir.” There’s a click, then a pause and then another click. Then Peepers is on comm with the skull ships head of security.

“Commander!” The lieutenant answer.

“Lieutenant, I want the full manifest of prisoners on the skull ship.” Peepers orders. The information is already downloading onto his tablet before he finishes his sentence.

“We are currently holding seven prisoners of five different species.” The lieutenant reports as Peepers reads. “None of them the species are called or commonly known as farons.”

“I want then interviewed now. Names, titles and anything they know about farons!”

“On it, sir.”

Okay, good. Peepers thinks to himself. What next?

He comm calls Lord Hater. Lord Hater doesn’t pick up. Peepers eye lid twitches. He tries again.

No answer.

“Utia!” He comms back in.

“Sir! Uh, nothing sufficient on the faron front yet but-”

“That in a minute. What’s the status of Lord Hater?”

“Oh, well he’s right . . . over . . . there.” She pauses. ”Uh, One moment.”

Once again she moves the microphone away from her face and she yells across the bridge.  
“Where’s Lord Hater?!” There’s a few “he's’ right- oh”’s and then “where’d he go?” “He was right here?” “Did no one see him go?”

Then Utia is back on with him again. “He’s gone, sir! I’m calling him but he’s not responding!”

“Same on my end.” Peepers tells her and she ‘mm’s nervously. “When and where was he last seen and is there any sign of him being captured?”

Utia orders for another bio scan of the ship, looking for Haters life signals this time. “He was here on the bridge! Just a few minutes ago, giving orders! He must have left in the aftermath of the audio transmission!”

“Okay. I want to know who saw him last. I’m on my way up there now.”

“Yes, sir.” she replies, sounding relieved. Peepers switches of the comm. He’s already on the ship by this time and decides to just sprint the rest of the way to the bridge.

He arrives less than a minute later, the door sliding upward as he storms into the room.

Someone yells “Commander on the bridge!” And several watchdogs rush up to him with data tablets, all speaking at once.

“Sir, three of the prisoners are refusing to cooperate and the other have never heard of a faron!”

“Commander! Our shields won't last against these kinds of weapons for any substantial length of time!”

“There no sign that Lord Hater has been captured as far as we can see! His bio signature isn't present on the enemy ship!”

“I have the video of Hater leaving the bridge, and three officers who were near him.”

Peepers processes all of this in less than a second before answering all at once. “Re-question the compliant prisoners and make a deal with other ones for their freedom. Check the other ships shielding and see how many of their weapons we could take out if necessary. Talk to the watchdogs on the ground and find out if they’ve seen Lord Hater.” Peeper orders. Three of the watchdogs rush off, already set on their new objectives.

Peepers spins around to face the fourth, some mid-level security officer. “And you! Show me that video.”

The security officer hastily guides him over to xyr monitor and presses play on the video. The only thing you can hear is the cryptic demands of this new threat. Her voice so loud they block all the other noise in the bridge.

Peepers watches Lord Hater freeze at the voice. His leader glances toward the ground feeds, where Peepers own image must have been at the time. Lord Hater looks so unwell, visibly shaking and clutching at his chest. Peepers had seen that look before. At this realization the feeling of dread in his stomach grows exponentially.

“I am not here to harm you.” That flarf nabling voice repeats. Just the recording makes Peepers eyelids tense up into a snarl. On screen Lord Haters says something and the watchdogs surrounding him nod.

“Right there!” Peepers snaps, spinning around to face one of those watchdogs who were there at the time. “What did he say to you?!”

“H-he just said not to trust her!” The watchdog squeaks.

“His exact words!” Peepers demands.

The watchdog whimpers and another beside him cuts in. “he just said ‘don’t trust her’. That's all.”

“Don't trust her.” Peepers repeats, cogs speeding around in his head. “Like he knew her?!”

“Uh, well yeah I guess” she says, considering.

“Crass glarp!” Peepers hisses. He should have figured it out sooner. ‘Her’, Lord Hater acting weird, some mysterious threatening presence; it was the same woman. The one that had spooked Lord Hater on Esw. The woman that Peepers was willing to bet knew Lord Hater by the name ‘faron’.

Lord Hater was in danger. Lord Hater was in direct danger from an unknown person with unknown intentions. Glorp, if only he had figured this out sooner. He could have done something. He should have done something. 1`q

“Sir?” The security officer asks.

“New information!” Peepers bellows out, several watchdogs glancing up in attention. “This threat is against Lord Hater himself, meaning there will be no deals or easy way out.”

A flicker of worried murmurs is let forth before peeper continues.

“I want Lord Hater found! I want the fastest route to a safe planet and I want all our weapons systems on standby, now!”

With this demand, the watchdogs set to work at twice speed again. Now that their leader himself was under threat they were especially motivated.

“Track his movements across the ship from the security footage.” Peepers tells the security officer, as he watches Lord Hater leave the bridge on screen. “Yes, sir.” Xe responds before Peepers whips around and strides across the bridge.

“Utia! What's the news from the ground?” He asks.

“No sign of Lord Hater, sir.” She reports. “But the regiments are having a hard time holding the Progno-onians. They’re requesting guidance.”

“Tell them to-” peeper begins before a timer Utia had set goes off.

Her eye widens and she looks at him, nervous. “That five minutes, Commander.”

On cue, every broadcasting device simultaneously clicks and hisses, causing many watchdogs to start. That woman’s voice is back again. Much colder this time, matching peeper feeling about her.

“Time's up.” She says, popping the ‘p’ sound at the end, like someone about to crush a beetle beneath their shoe.

“And yet, I am not in possession of my faron.” She says, she dares to talk about him that way.

Peepers slams his fist down on to the console. Many of the watchdogs glance around at him seeming confused as to how he’s not as entranced as the rest of them.

“How strange.” She remarks casually, as her photon blasters power up.

“Keep working” he says, furious. “Do not give her control.”

They blink and realise that the consoles in front of them do still function, before gingerly continuing with their orders.

“Get me a line to that ship.” He tells Utia. “I want to talk to her.”

“On it.” Utia whispers.

“Oh, what’s this?” the woman says in mock surprise. “Hello?”

“You’re on!” Utia mouths at him.

He squares his shoulders. “This is Commander Jon Peepers of the Hater empire.” Peepers says, with all the stern, professionalism he can muster. He wants to rage, to destroy this intruder! But now is not the time to tip his hand. “To whom am I speaking?”

“Good afternoon, Commander.” the woman says pleasantly, as though this were some smoozy business lunch. She speaks like isn’t locking an ion beam on to his control room. “Hhhm, who am I? I'm just someone who knows what she wants.”

“I was more looking for a name.” Peepers enunciates, unimpressed.

“Ah.” she replies. She's so glarping calm, like this was a casual conversation. “Tighearnach Theodoric. Good to meet you.”

“The pleasures all mine.” Peepers says, keeping his voice even instead of seething over. Cool and swath he says, “Unfortunately we seem to be having a bit of a problem with your request.”

He grabs a pad off of one of the consoles, typing instructions before handing it to Utia.

Have the blaster locked on to her weapons and engines. Be ready to fire or evacuate on my demand

Please tell me you have found Lord Hater

Utia reads it over and starts signalling and sending messages to people.

“Oh my!” Tighearnach Theodoric, as she called herself, exclaims. “Well, if you just tell me what the issue is, I’m sure I can help you help me, and have all this squared away in no time.”

He rolls his eyes, glad this is only an audio transmission. Like hell was he falling for this plabnarch. But he's not able to do anything but play along. He needs time.

“Well, Miss theodoric, none of us here are sure what this faron thing you're looking for is.” Peepers says, going for well-meaning and apologizing. He's pretty sure he pulled it off.

He catches Utia’s eye and mouths ‘Hater’. She shakes her head, frowning.

“Oh, my mistake.” she says so sincerely. Her voice smooth and honeyed. “Shall I describe it for you?”

“If you could.” Peepers agrees, like she's doing him a favour. He leans over a console. There's another problem. There still thousands of watchdogs on the surface of the planet. He has no way of evacuating them without this woman noticing something is up. This had better work or they would have to make a mad dash for it.

“Well, it's an animal. It quite large and not particularly bright.”

Peepers scowls.

“It’s strong, good at grunt work and not much else.”

Peepers’ eyelid twitches. How dare she!

“And this particular one I’m looking for is quite damaged. With a lot of exposed bone.” she says drawing out the word bone.

She knows. Peepers can tell. She knows he knows who she is talking about. She has to have seen them together on the surface of the planet. Peepers presses his eyelids together. He realises she thought they were hiding Hater the whole time. He wishes they had been hiding Hater the whole time. They need to find him now.

“Does any of that ring a bell?” she asks, sickly sweet.

He has to make a decision here. Only he doesn't have much of a choice. “I’m afraid not, perhaps-”

A blaster ray shoots into the planet below right into the middle of the remaining group of watchdogs. Peepers can hear screaming.

Oh god.

The screens from below show the watchdogs yelling running toward the injured. Some arm their weapons. Peepers can hear the transmissions coming in from the ground.

“Lieutenant down!”

“What do we do?”

“He’s not breathing!”

“Do we attack?”

“Orders, sir. Orders!”

“Evacuate them, now! Forget the planet!” Peepers yells, back on in an instant. “I want the med bay ready to admit upwards of 200!”

there's a chorus of ‘yes sir’s.

“It’s going to be more than 200 if you don't give me what I want, Commander.” Theodoric says. There is something different in her voice now. Cold. Hungry.

“And get her the hell of my comms!” Peepers yells.

“Hold up, hold up! Give me two seconds!” Utia yells back, fingers flying.

“Commander-” Theodoric warns like an engine warming up before Utia cuts her off.

“Thank you, Utia!” he yells back as another beam cuts up the battle field below.

“Fire on those blasters! I want as many taken out as possible!”

“Aye!” Barry yells, fist slamming down on the button.

“Good! I want back up power ready to go, in case the shields go down. I want engines at 60% and somebody better tell me where the heck Lord Hater is!” Peepers yells. He’s only shaking a little. Really. Peepers can feel the sweat running down his neck. The bridge is a mess. The outside of the ship even worse, with all the open hatches and watchdogs rushing each other back onto the ship. They’re so exposed but there no other way for it. There's watchdog bodies littering the battlefield, not moving.

Theodoric still firing down on them. They’ve only knocked out two of her weapons. They’re outgunned. There's no way they're going to-

“Commander!” Officer Pat calls from the viewing console.

“What!?”

“I found Lord Hater.”

Peepers rushes over to the windshield, the giant skull's eyes tinted and so far from the ground. Yet Peepers could see every single detail of Lord Hater standing in the middle of the war zone. He’s blocking the watchdogs on the ground with a large bubble shield.

“Hey, Tighearnach!” Hater screams. It’s definitely a scream. There no other word for it. Hater sounds afraid. He sounds in pain.

The blaster fire stops. There’s a click and then a silky “yes?” from Theodoric.

“I surrender.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so im back after more than six month. oops sorry. also its probably riddled with mistakes. anyway hoped you enjoyed this.


	4. Lord Hater's personal hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not a fun chapter. Warnings; eye trauma (vague), medical abuse, injections/syringes. if you wish to avoid these things you may stop reading at the line: "Hater lets go of the shield. "
> 
> There are also to very vague implications to sexual abuse, but it is so minimal that i haven't tagged it yet.
> 
> Also I have decided to do warnings per chapter as well now.

“This is Commander Jon Peepers of the Hater empire. Who am I speaking to?”   
  
Lord Hater's head whips up in shock. He bumps into a pipe in his hiding place in a janitor's closet. Ow. Hater whips his hands up to grab at the top of his skull.   
  
But that was Peepers’ voice. Peepers was talking to her. That, that was not good.   
  
She could tell him things. She could hurt Peepers. She could hurt him. She could use her slithery, cunning words to wrap around him and squeeze him out.    
  
“Good afternoon, Commander.”    
  
Her voice is like a fist around his throat. She’s so calm, like she always is until she’s not. Like a tripwire and Hater is the prey. He shivers, even though he’s cramped and muggy. His legs dig further into his ribcage.    
  
“Hmm, who am I? I'm just someone who knows what she wants.” She sounds like she’s smiling.   
She’s pleased with herself.   
  
It’s true. She always knows what she wants. She always gets what she wants.   
  
“I was more looking for a name.” Peepers says, sounding unhappy.   
  
Peepers was safe. Well, he wasn’t safe. Peepers was very much in danger from her and a lot of other things as well. But Peepers was safe for Hater. Peepers was a safe person, Peepers was safe to Hater. More than that Peepers had his back, was at his side working to help him in any way he could. Smart, crafty Peepers, weaving plans and words. At least Hater had Peepers.   
  
“Ah.” she makes a small sound.   
  
It's bad, it's bad. It sounds nice, but Hater knows better. It's not nice.   
  
“Tighearnach Theodoric. Good to meet you.”   
  
Hater could almost laugh if he didn't feel like he would throw up. So she’s calling herself that again.    
  
Hater knows what it means, her history and her birth right. All the things she became bored with before they meet, before he was hers. She had a new life then, with a new name. Several names actually. Hater could never remember which name he should use. he just called her miss unless they were alone. He knows what the name Tighearnach Theodoric is to her, a tool. Heavy in her hand yet useful in many situations.   
  
Or at least that's what it used to be. But here she is using it. She introduced herself as Tighearnach Theodoric to strangers. These people didn’t know what it meant. These people did not know to respect it. Maybe something had changed. Or maybe it was just for him.    
  
If she had been using her name to send a message to him, though, she would not have used that one. He always always knew her as miss ayers. It was the first name her knew her by, the name that portrayed his rapture of her, the name cried out in the dark. Surely she would have used Tara. Unless . . . unless she didn’t know it was him.   
  
Hater startles at the thought. She had to know! She always knew! Tara could see into him, know everything about him, in his entirety. She was never wrong.   
  
Yet she hadn’t used his name; AoU. She liked that name, the one she gave him. It showed ownership. It meant inferior, lowly, mine. She liked that name. Like to use it.   
  
She only asked for the faron. She didn’t ask for AoU, didn't use his name. Maybe she only knew what he was not who. Hater couldn’t be sure.   
  
“The pleasures all mine.”  Peepers says, sounding pleasant and genuine. Hater has lost track of the conversation. What’s going on? Had they already agreed to hand him over?    
  
“Unfortunately we seem to be having a bit of a problem with your request.” Peepers continues. He sounds like he's making a deal. He sounds like he's doing business! Haters gonna get traded off again!   
  
No. Peepers wouldn’t, of course not. Hater was his leader (and his friend). None of the watchdogs would do that. No one was going to give up without a fight.    
  
Right?   
  
“Oh my!” She says   
  
Hater has heard that voice before, dancing over cocktails after a scandalous story. Completely fabricated yet no less real. It means she’s having fun.    
  
“Well, if you just tell me what the issue is, I’m sure I can help you help me, and have all this squared away in no time.” Tara’s so tricky with her words. Hater knows Peepers can keep up with her but if it were him? No way. He’d have been swallowed up long ago.     
  
“Well, Miss Theodoric, none of us here are sure what this faron thing you're looking for is.” Peepers says and Hater can hear the lie. Peepers isn't dumb. Hater has no doubt he figured out it's him Tara's looking for.    
  
It could just be Hater being paranoid because he knows what this is. But if it's not, then Tara’s definitely heard it too. He can’t tell which it is! Bad, bad. If she thinks Peepers is lying to her… If she thinks he has crossed her . . . Bad things.   
  
“Oh, my mistake.” She says nicely.    
  
She never sounds that nice unless she wants something.    
  
“Would you like me to describe it to you?” She asks.   
  
Oh no. Peepers is going to hear, everyone's going to hear. His entire empire is going to know what he is.    
  
“If you could,” Peepers says.   
  
“No.” Hater squeaks out loud. No one is around to hear him. He grabs the mop next to him, holding onto it with all his grip.   
  
“Well, it's an animal. It quite large and not particularly bright.”   
  
Hater sucks in his breath. The air in the cupboard is musty and full of little pieces of dust. It makes him cough and struggle for breath even more. Glimity, it was just like the last time. Except this time, he’s not gonna get away. He sniffed and sobbed a little, gasping for air.    
  
“It’s strong, good at grunt work and not much else.”   
  
It's not true. He’s not even good at grunt work. Hater can't even remember how many times she had scolded him because he did something wrong again. He can't function without her telling him what to do. No wonders he's gotten nowhere with this conquering thing. He draws short and stuttery breathes, well on his way to hyperventilation. He's starting to tear up! Oh my gorlp! How pathetic.   
  
“And this particular one I’m looking for is quite damaged.” She wasn’t wrong.   
  
He can't see anything, just the tiny slit of light coming through the seam of the door. It's just like her room, with her sharp eye seeing all of him while he squints and starts when her hands find him. She's found him.   
  
“With a lot of exposed bone.” She says stretching the words like putty in her hands. “Does any of that ring a bell?” She says viciously, finally tipping her hand. She knew Peepers was lying to her, Hater can tell. She always knows. She always knows.   
  
He can’t breathe. He’s going to throw up. He leans over his knees and spills stomach acid and water onto his robe and the floor. He’s coughing. His throat burns.    
  
He leans back against the wall, stuttering in a breath and wiping his mouth. Hater realises something; it's not just him that she gonna hurt. If someone doesn't give her what she wants, she destroys them too. She’ll go through everyone to get to him. She does anything to get what she wants.   
  
Peepers knows this. He faced with the choice of giving Hater up or massive casualties, judging on how well armed she is. Even then there is no guarantee that Hater would escape if they tried to run. She’d catch him and they’d all end up dead anyway just for getting in her way. There's no choice but to give Hater up now or let everyone be killed.    
  
Even so, Hater hopes Peepers won't give him up. He doesn’t want- he can’t- he can’t.    
  
“I’m afraid not, perhaps-”    
  
The ground beneath the ship shakes. The ship itself shakes.   
  
Hater fumbles out of the closet, stumbles his way to the porthole at the end of the hall. He can't see what happened, only watchdogs running. But he can guess with all the weapons she had pointed at them.    
  
Peepers is yelling orders, voice still broadcasting over her channel. He’s evacuating, giving up the planet. It won't help. He’s yelling about the med bay. There are wounded.    
  
“It’s going to be more than 200 if you don't give me what I want, Commander.” She says, in that voice, that cold deadly voice that means you are beginning to irritate her. That means you won't be breathing easy in the morning.   
  
“And get her the hell of my comms!” Peepers yells. He sounds angry but Hater knows better. That’s the loud, dripping with confidence voice he uses when he really not. He’s afraid. He’s going to die.   
  
Hater doesn't even have the peace of mind to teleport. He just blasts his way through the wall and jumps. It's not even that far but he feels something below him crack. There is mud between his toes. The ground trampled with tiny footprints, both strange and familiar.     
  
He can still run and he does. Right out into the battlefield. There are scorch marks, grass burning and laser blasts raining down, and watchdogs, some alive, some- no no no. They’re not moving. This is his fault.   
  
He runs right out in front of her ship, right in firing range. He doesn't even feel himself make the force field. He just looks up to see it there and then find the weight of holding it up crashing down on him. The laser fire hits the shield. He can feel the force of them right against his being. It hurts. He doesn't drop it.   
  
“Hey, Tighearnach!” Hater says as loud as he possibly can. The blasts stop but Hater can still feel their echoes, inside is bones.   
  
“Yes.” She relies, mildly interested.   
  
“I surrender,” He says. There's nothing else to do.    
  
“Finally,” She says like this has all been a paperwork hold up, all her rage back behind her walls. She always had complete control over her emotions. It terrifies him. “Stay right there, I'll send someone to get you.”    
  
Even as she speaks the main entrance activates. A platform is beginning to lower from giant metal supporting rods.    
  
Hater’s comm buzzes. Once, twice then the third twice as long. Peepers’ ringtone. Hater stares at it as it repeats the pattern. He may as well answer it, if this is the last time he was going to talk to him.    
  
Somewhere far away it feels like his emotions are being stabbed. But here he barely registers it.    
  
“Hello?” He says, because what else can he say?   
  
“Sir, no!” Peepers says. He's trying for his scared but pretending to be confident voice but he can't even manage that so he just kind of screeches at him.    
  
“I- what else can I do, Peepers?” Nothing that he could think of (but that's not exactly high criteria). If Peepers has any, any ideas, Hater is all ears.    
  
Peepers stays silent. He doesn't know what to do.    
  
This is it then. Uh, last words. “It- it was good, uh, working with you, Peepers.”   
  
“No! Sir, we are going to find you!” Peepers squeaks at him.   
  
What!? “NO! You can't-” That was the whole point.   
  
“Sir!” Peepers yells, desolate. He sounds like Hater is betraying him. It makes Haters chest hurt.   
  
“No, Peepers! You don't know what she’s like!” Hater stops him. He couldn't let Peepers, his Peepers get caught by her. She couldn’t touch him. She could never get her hands on him. That was why he was doing this! To protect him! “She’s too dangerous! Peepers, she will kill you.”    
  
“It doesn't matter! I’m not leaving you!” Peepers says like that was an option. Of course it matters, it’s the only thing that does. Peepers voice buzzes through the comms, right next to Hater’s ear. A false closeness. Hater wishes against everything that Peepers could be here next to him. It wouldn't help, he knows that. Even Peepers is nothing against her.    
  
“No.” Hater says and he’s not yelling anymore. He doesn't want his last words to Peepers to be yelled. He's so tired. Hater has to stop him. “You will not come after me, you will not try to find me.   
That's-”   
  
“Sir!” Peepers plead, knowing what he was going to say.   
  
“That's an order, Peepers.” Hater tells him, resigned. If anything could stop Peepers, it would be being ordered. Peepers was loyal, no matter how frustrated he was by Hater. It was one of Haters favourite things about him.   
  
“Sir,” Peepers whispers, almost begging. His voice has that wet, slightly slurred quality that means he's started crying.     
  
“Commander.” Hater warns, keeping his voice as level as he can.    
  
There's a pause then, “yes, Lord Hater, sir.”    
  
He sounds so broken. Hater screws up the only eyelids he has left to stop himself from tearing up. Again. His breathing is ragged and he knows Peepers can hear.    
  
“I n-need you to do this for me Peepers.” Sniff. ” I need you to get them away from here. I need you to keep the watchdogs safe. I need you safe.”   
  
“Sir, i- I'm so sorry. If only I had-”   
  
“It's not  _ your fault _ ! It's mine. I never should have- it doesn't matter now. Just- oh grop!” The tears escape and start dripping down his zygomatic bones. He snorts and rubs at the snot running down his face. Flim nabbed, he’s pathetic.     
  
The platform touches the ground with a thud that shudders through him. It just sits there in the dirt, shining spotless metal padding down the earth, so calm like it did this every day. Maybe it did.   
  
“This is it.” Hater whispers.    
  
“It- it’ll be okay, sir.” Peepers says back quietly. Hater will miss his voice, no matter how much it used to get on his nerves. It sounds different now, with him.    
  
Already at the opening he can see armed figures. It takes him a minute to recognise his own image, other faron. At least three of them, as Well as some creatures he doesn't recognise looking uniformed and sinister.    
  
“Drop the shield.” Tara commands and Hater almost does it on instinct alone. Then he remembers the reason he's not still hiding in a janitor's closet.    
  
Hater glances behind him. The majority of the watchdogs have evacuated to the ship except for the- ugh- the bodies. A few lieutenants have straggled behind with their weapons cocked. They are unsure whether to stand by his side.    
  
“Not until you guarantee the safety of my crew!” he yells.   
  
She laughs at him. “You’re bargaining? with me?”   
  
“Let them go unharmed!” he yells. He needs that. Don't drop it until they are safe. Don’t drop it.   
  
She hums debating as she exhales. “Well, if they don't get in the way . . . mmm, okay, tell you what, faron. I'll leave your little eyeball friends alone if they never bother me again. Is that a deal?”   
  
“Deal. But I'm not dropping the shield until they're all on board.” He yells at her.   
  
“Fine. Hurry up,” She says sounding mildly annoyed.   
  
Hater turns to the remaining watchdogs. “Get on board and don't look back!”   
  
They don't move for a few second, glancing at each other. This definitely didn't seem like something they should be doing.     
  
“But, Lord Hater, sir-” One of the lieutenants tries to argue with him.   
  
“NOW!”   
  
“Do as he says.” Peepers voice echo through the group comms.    
  
The lieutenant looks back to Hater and nods respectfully before retreating. The others follow after her. Hater watches them scramble back to the ship. They help each other along, picking up a wounded watchdog that was left behind. They were always better than him. He never understood how they didn't see it before.    
  
He waits until they are all on board, the jaws shut and their tiny selves as safe as they could be here.     
  
The group of ‘someones’ she had sent for him have come closer but are waiting at a distance on the platform for him. He doesn't want to do this.   
  
“Peeper?” he says as in a small voice as everything stands still.   
  
“Yes, sir?” peeper asks. He’s so good, Hater’s Commander. Peepers is going to be okay. He’s better off without him really. Maybe he’ll realise that he’s an even better leader than Hater is. Peepers will realise that he doesn't need Hater to take over the galaxy. He'll start conquering things on his own, with the watchdogs. They'll be fine. They'll be safe.    
  
“I- goodbye, Peepers.”   
  
Peepers sniffs and Hater can hear the way his smile falters. “Goodbye, sir.”    
  
Hater lets go of the shield.    
  
Then everything jolts into action, somehow so much faster than before. The other faron are rushing at him, loud yelling to each other. They grab him and he doesn't move. They're holding him, holding him in place. Holding his arms, his legs. One of them is holding his head. He can’t move. He can't breathe. The uniformed creature, which he now sees are lab coats and right in front of him, two of them right in his face. They’re touching him. One of them is reaching for his right eye. It's touching him, his eye. They are holding his eyelids open, he realises as the other lab coat pulls a large sickly syringe in front to him. He doesn't know when he started but he's screaming. They're pushing it, the needle, right into his eye socket. He can feel it rubbing, scraping pushing. He can feel the stuff going inside him, It hurt, it burns. It's the worst, most barbaric pain he’s ever felt. His brain is on fire. He can feel the hands holding him as he squirms. He can feel the pain in his throat from screaming.    
  
Then he stops feeling anything.   
  
Then everything stops.   
  


* * *

  
  
The next thing he knows is voices talking. That and pain. There's a deep ache everywhere that he’s aware of and his head hurts so bad the can't think straight. There’s someone talking, touching him. The lights are bright so he keeps his eyes closed. He screws them shut and tries to turn away from the light but he can't seem to move for some reason.     
  
It kind of cold and his bed is more uncomfortable than usual.   
  
Hater moans a little and tries to shift again. He’s groggy and his brain isn't working right now. He just wants to go back to sleep. So that's what he does.

 

  
  
He stirs a few more time, more from discomfort than anything. There are blinding lights and people are talking words that he can't parse and then he's not awake anymore. 

 

* * *

 

  
  
When he next wakes it to the agitating feeling that he needs to get up. It feels urgent and his back is in a bad position. He attempts to sit up and makes it halfway before nausea hits him. He leans over the side of the bed and vomits onto the floor, yellow bile burning his throat. The froth of his saliva and mucus-clogged up his throat and makes him gag even more. He coughs and splutters, drops of whatever's coming out of his throat falling onto the metal bed railing.    
  
Hater goes to hold his hood out of the way but he's not wearing his cloak. Also he can't move his hands. He spits the rest of the gunk in his mouth onto the floor and slowly turns his swimming head. His vision is fuzzy. But not so much for him to not notice the restraints on each arm, and upon further inspection his legs as well. He doesn’t- he doesn’t know where he is.    
  
It's not making sense in his head. It's hard to think. He feels clogged. The lights are so bright. This doesn't make sense. The lights and the smell of chemicals and the feeling of waking up in pain all say hospital but there's none of the colours or sounds of the skull ship med bay.  Everything's too big for the watchdogs; that table thingy, the bed, the machine beeping rhythmically somewhere on the edge of his vision. They wouldn’t be able to reach.   
  
Hater slumps back down weakly. He's not on a bed exactly, more like a table that's vaguely bed shaped. At least there is a pillow.    
  
Someone's talking now. It's not Peepers and it doesn't sound like any watchdog he recognises. “-er, get a nurse for me, will you. 00015 made a mess.” 

 

* * *

 

 

Someone else says something.   
  
The inside of Haters mouth tastes disgusting. His throat burns. “Water.” He rasps out.   
  
‘You’re being hydrated intravenously.” a curt, apathetic voice acknowledges.    
  
Hater blinks and tries to find the source of the voice. There's a tall thin figure facing toward him. The figure blurs, and doubles for a moment before blending back together. He's wearing a lab coat. That fact makes Haters blood run cold. That's bad, he feels bad but he can't identify why.   
  
“Water?” Hater asks again in a whimper. There's little bits of slimy stuff still in his mouth and it makes him cough.    
  
“No,” comes the terse, almost smug sounding reply.    
  
Hater doesn't understand. Why can't he have water? He sniffs and tries to swallow. “Please?” He asks. He just wants water.   
  
There's an annoyed ‘ugh’ noise. “Be quite. Now.” The lab coat commands.    
  
They are not going to give him any water. What? Why? He just wants water. Haters face pulls into a scowl as the anger courses through him.    
  
“I WANT WATER!” Hater screams furiously. He bolts up and strains against his restraints to get to his person who dares deny him such simple a request.    
  
The lab coat tsks. “Sedate him,” He orders.    
  
How dare they!   
  
“NO!” Hater yells, he doesn't want to be asleep again. “NO, NO. NO. NO.” He doesn't want the needles, it hurts so much. He doesn't want to be asleep. How dare they do this to him. How dare they! His head is spinning and he feels like he going to throw up again. He doesn't stop struggling and shoving his body forward. He doesn't want this.   
  
The lab coat groans and mumbles. “This isn’t my job.”    
  
There's other lab coats showing up, trying to hold his with their plastic gloves. The lights are so bright. It hurts. He struggles against them as the feeling of dread and Deja Vu slams against the back of his skull.    
  
Then he sees the needle.    
  
His scream is a sickening mix of fury and terror. The lightning comes without him having to think. It surges out of him, zapping through his bones in a good way, the way he likes. The way that makes him feel powerful. The way that tells him his anger is good, to keep going. Never stop.   
  
The bodies around him stop moving naturally. They jolt around, eyes wide and rolling, the terror commented on their faces. Then they fall lifeless to the ground. They won't needle him.   
  
“Change of plan.” The lab coat, the mean one yells. “Just dart him and seal the room.” His voice is getting further away. He’s getting away. “Let him tire himself out.”   
  
There are people running. The people are yelling. Everything is so loud, the machines scream lifelike high pitched noises at him. They won't shut up. Why won't they stop? All the walls are white and spinning they won't stay still and neither does he. It's so bright. He has to fight. He can’t let them get him again. He can't let the needles in him.    
  
Hater feels the pain in his chest and looks down to see one of those needles bullets in lodges in his rib. He wants to pull it out but he can't reach with his hands tied. There's another one in his leg. He can't, he can't.    
  
He looks up but there's no one in in the room now. It's bigger than he thought, stretching out and along with benches and machines and shining. but they have all walled themselves off from him and are staring at him behind the glass. He can still hear them. He can hear everything at the same time, so it doesn't sound like voices. All the noise clumps together, yelling at him, coming right for him. It so loud it hurts.   
  
“WAIT!” He screams.    
  
He can feel it, the dizzy, the sound of his brain slowing. He's gonna stop being awake again!    
  
He finally manages to pull one of his hands free of the leather bands. It hurts to wrench it free and he's pretty sure one of his fingers has broken off. The middle ones not there when he looks at it but he's not sure he can trust his vision. He reaches grasps at nothing. There no one there anymore. He leans further, trying to reach something, anything. Now he's leaning too far, he's too heavy. The bed is tipping with him. That sickening unstable feeling He's falling. He's falling again. It was his fault. Something else cracks as he hits the ground. The cold and the pain hit him at the same time like being thrown off a cliff into freezing water and rocks. He tries to move but his free arm is stuck under the weight of the bed. He can't, he can't breathe. It hurts so much. He can't move. He struggles. The floor is so cold. He's going to fall asleep again! No! No! No!    
  
The glass from the other room is not completely sound proof. The last thing he hears is that mean lab coats voice. “Yeah, you’d better get down here. There's been a development.”   
  


* * *

 

  
He’s warmer now. There's wetness around his mouth. His shoulders hurt.    
  
Hater recognises her voice before he even recognises he’s awake. It's only the fear that keeps him from crying out. He doesn't know what to do. Maybe if he doesn't move she won't know he’s awake. He stays stock still. The light shines through his eyelids in a way that makes him really want to open them. He doesn't move, tries not to think about the way the blackness and the light mixing makes him feel sick.     
  
A voice that's somewhat familiar is talking. “Uh and some vomiting and coordination problems, ah as well as erythema of mucous membranes-”    
  
“Petya, do you think i care how it's feeling?” She drawls. Hater wants to be sick.   
  
“Well, no.” Says the other voice, Hater is pretty sure is that mean lab coat from before. Uh, before what? His brain is refusing to give him a lot of the information he wants. The memories won't come, or if they do they’re so twisted and hazy that he can't make sense of them. All he really knows is; lab coat, her and hospital. As well as the horrible discomfort all over his body. There's new sharp points of pain centred around his wrists, ankles and neck.   
  
She sighs. “Tell me you know how it was able to do those things?”     
  
‘Uh, preliminary tests were inconclusive, but uh, with more time it's-” The mean lab coat sounds worried. Hater supposes everyone's afraid of her, even her own people. Flarb knows he was.   
  
“Petya.” Tara sounds unimpressed. That's not how you want her to sound.    
  
“We did manage to temporarily stop its ability to conduct electricity and electromagnetic forces.”  Petya says quickly. Hater can hear him moving around and the clang of metal.   
  
“Ugh. This is not good enough, Petya.” She says moving close to the bed. “It cost me five good nurses and a batch of the solution. And all you can do is temporary?” Oh. Oh no. She sounds utterly annoyed as she steps closer and leans against the railing of the new bed. She weights causes the bed to dip and Hater can feel her breath on him. He flinches.    
  
Hater freezes. Maybe she didn't notice.   
  
“Speaking of,” She says, giddily.   
  
She always notices.   
  
“Look who’s awake!” She says in a sing song voice. Hater feels the bed dip and she leans even closer to him.   
  
Hater opens his eyes and there she is. Tara is as beautiful and as terrible as he remembers. Her dark eyes look down at him, into him, crawling over him and exposing all his delicate parts.    
  
She smiles down at him when he opens his eyes. “Hello little one.”   
  
She's never called him that before. Ever.   
  
“I am one of the monarchs of imperium novum. Do you know what that means?” She asks him softly.   
  
Hater nods. Of course he knew what that meant. Of course he knew she was. Why would she feel the need to remind him? Did she think he had forgotten? Then it hits him. She doesn't recognise him. She doesn't know it him, that he’s AoU. That's the only reason she's being this nice. It’s probably why he’s still alive.   
  
“Very good.” Tara says smiling and patting his shoulder.    
  
Don't say her name. Don't says anything that will make her realise who you are. Just- just don’t say anything.    
  
“I am your master, now.”    
  
Hater doesn't correct her; doesn't tell her she has always been his master. He just nods again.    
  
She's frowning now, her sleek, not a hair out of place eyebrows tilting in a way that instantly fill him with guilt. “Show respect.” She says reproachfully, like she's disappointed in him.   
  
Hater instantly dips his head and stops making any eye contact with her.   
  
“Better.” She says and Hater can hear her hair moving in a way that must mean she is nodding at him. “So, no more of this business of breaking my things and hurting my people. Understand?” She says, voice sharp with an edge of threatening.    
  
Hater nods.    
  
“You will not cause any more trouble. You will do as you are asked. and as a show of good faith, i will overlook that unfortunate incident from before.” She tells him, voice sugary yet cold.   
  
Hater doesn't even remember what he did. He nods vigorously.    
  
“Good.” She says before stepping up and away from him, any sign of sweetness dropping off her face. It's like she stopped even seeing him in that one moment. She walks away from him as though the last few minutes never happened. She's on her way out of the door when she speaks. To Petya, “Continue the treatment.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! uh, so apologies that this is one of the shortest and least nice chapters so far. I actually edited/left out a lot of the stuff I was originally going to put in this chapter because it was too graphic or too emotionally taxing for me to even write. this alone was stressful. I wasn't even going to have this be a chapter and just skip to the next part of the plot so chapter five is already being written and now that I have finished school I should have more time to work on it.
> 
> side note; how do you guys feel I'm doing one characterisations? I've been trying but it's hard to keep the characters consistent because this is so much darker than the source material.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are not only love, but also motivation.


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